


From Blues to Roses

by FirebirdSong



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boss/Employee Relationship, British Character, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Humor, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, Parody, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:13:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 132,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2338082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirebirdSong/pseuds/FirebirdSong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. James Wilson already knew that working for Gregory House was by itself halfway to wreck his personal life and to be driven to madness. When his British boss hatched a plan not to be deported back to the U.K. that consisted in pretending to be his fiance,  Wilson was sure that he was going through what was left of that patch. What he just couldn't know was how beautiful it would be what he would find along the way, and that there would be hardly anything truer for them than what was to be born inside their lies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here comes your man

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT:  
> \- This fanfiction starts as a strict parody of the movie The proposal, starring Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock, but it follows its own path, completely unrelated.
> 
> \- Longfic.
> 
> \- The canon divergence is mainly about characters previous relationships or their job titles, which need to be seen with freedom.
> 
> \- Written in a collaboration with Midnight_Desire. Roleplay Adaptation. 
> 
> -Some legal issues were _deliberately_ adapted, to fit in the story. Like many romantic comedies.
> 
> \- English is not the authors' native language.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There is a wait so long, you'll never wait so long;  
> Here comes your man"
> 
> Pixies - Here Comes Your Man

The two cups of coffee already waited on the counter, for the hurried, breathless doctor come in to get them. Wilson, though always running, used to show up with ironed coat and flawless hair - he was messier there.

"You're running a little late, James." The attendant said, with a kind smile, checking his crooked tie and flushed cheeks.

"Jillian, you are the best." He puffed, picked the cups and stormed out the place again, towards House's office.

That was one of those days, he knew already. Not that he didn't knew how hard it could be; from the very first day of that crazy selection program he went through to get there, Wilson knew working for Gregory House wouldn't be easy. Nevertheless, he always knew, also, that a mind like House's is one of a kind, and that he wouldn't ever had that chance again. But there he was, running along the aisles after having just broken up with another girlfriend. Missing every single chance of a stable relationship because of his work most surely wasn't enough. Because staying through 24h turns wasn't enough, being humiliated and mocked at every day wasn't enough. He could work his ass off and House would still find a way to make his life miserable. Oh, and the coffee. He had to be House's personal assistant, too.

He was already making up excuses for when he arrived, even when he knew House would read - by his shirt collar or something - that he had a fight and that he was single. But when he reached House's office, he saw through the glass walls that his boss wasn't there.

...

House sighed, looking to the patient that had just seized again and no one had a clue of what was wrong. From the beginning he had said they were wrong, but hardly anyone in that hospital asked his opinion unless someone was almost dying - and most of the times, it was too late. That's why he asked Wilson to keep him informed of the 'interesting' cases, so he could do something before everybody screwed it up too much.

"Ask the mother if she traveled to Asia lately. When she answer yes, start looking for the parasites in her brain." He threw the files on the desk and went out of the room without answering any more questions.

Cuddy asked him to go talk to her as soon as possible, but it wouldn't hurt her to wait a little longer. He walked to his office to get his coffee before, and maybe annoy Wilson a bit, but they met halfway. Taking his coffee and looking at the younger doctor from head to toes, he grinned.

"Did she steal your hair dryer as vengeance?"

Wilson followed him and it was even some sort of wicked relief needing to slow down his pace in order to match his boss'. He was really tired of running.

"I don't know how much of a guess or a joke this is, but, actually, she did." He picked the files he had under his arm and opened them, reading the first. "Kindergarden teacher, 29, was brought to Princeton-Plainsboro after-"

"What did she say? _'You never spend time with me'_ or, my personal favourite, _'You love your job more than me'_?" House had an amused smile on his lips as he changed direction and went to the elevator. "There's something curious in how they want your money and still don't want you to work to get it. They're never satisfied." At the elevator's door, he stopped. "Cuddy's office, ten minutes. Someone's liver is failing or something like that. Try to look a bit desperate. Don't be late. Understood? Now go brush your hair and try to look a bit less like a girl who's just been dumped. I can almost feel sorry for you."

Wilson let his arms fall to his sides.  _She may really have a liver failure if you don't listen_ , he thought, lowering his eyes to the files, but just nodded.

"Sure. I'll be there in ten." he said, just before the elevator doors close. Turning his back, he sighed, running his hand through his hair. He remembered what his ex-girlfriend said. It was no surprise she said he loved his job more than her. It wouldn't be so difficult; they have met two months ago and she was overreacting. But when he was in the hospital, it was hard to believe he really loved working there.

...

House threw the empty cup in a trash can in the way to Cuddy's office, annoyed for having to talk bureaucracy so early in the morning. She was talking to a grey-haired man when he walked in.

"House, it seems you have some issues to solve with the Immigration. This is Michael Tritter-..."

The man interrupted her, as if he couldn't care less about her presence.

"-from the US Department of Citizenship and Immigration. I know your lack of talent for useless conversation, so I'll spare you the chit chat and get to the point: I'm here to inform you, Mr. House, that you need to leave the country."

"What?" House stepped forward. "This is ridiculous. I've been living here for years, there isn't anything wrong with my documents, I don't have criminal records."

The man just smiled knowingly, even mockingly.

"Well, you haven't sent your forms in three years. Your american citizenship was denied. You'll be deported to the United Kingdom."

"No, I can't be deported, I'm..."

The door was opened a bit suddenly, but still carefully. Still holding the door knob, Wilson entered the room.

"Excuse my interruption, Dr Cuddy, sir." he looked at the two others in the place with a convincing urgent look in his face. "Dr House, you are needed in B ward. It's Rachel, her kidneys are failing."

House saw in those worried brown eyes a chance to get away from that problem. Sighing dramatically, he looked from Wilson to Tritter.

"I can't leave the country. We're getting married."

He tried to look embarrassed, as if uncomfortable for coming out that way, under pressure. His eyes were full of a painful longing when he stared into Wilson's, as he walked to him and put his arm over the younger's shoulders.

"Wh-" Stunned, Wilson looked at Cuddy looking for an answer "Who's getting married?"

"We are." House tried to look as if apologizing for exposing them that way.

"You and Cuddy?" he said, a bit too quickly.

"Don't play that part anymore, love. I know you weren't ready to come out, but... It was necessary. You know I'm tired of hiding. We'll be together and no one will tear us apart." House kissed Wilson's cheek and looked at the other two people in the room, who looked just as stunned. "I've asked him last Saturday. I just can't live without him."

As everybody was waiting for an answer, Wilson tried to make his brain work . The shock, though, wasn't fading - he wasn't understanding a word.

"Are you making this up  _in front of me_?" Tritter roared, enraged, and it made Wilson react.

"No, yeah, we are... Yeah, he... proposed...?"

Cuddy had a look of  _What are you doing?_ , but didn't say anything.

"Well, now we must leave or poor Rachel will need a transplant." House said quickly, before anyone could start questioning too much. "We can discuss this later when there isn't any life at risk."

Tritter was clearly angry, but with no recourse for then.

"I'll inform you the date of your interview. But keep in mind that if we find the tiniest sign of a lie, you both will be in great trouble."

House wasn't even listening anymore. After taking Wilson's hand, he dragged him out of that room.

Nearly stumbling out, Wilson closed the door behind him.

" _What the hell was that about?_ " He asked, the most aggressive a hush could be. When House started to walk out, seeming willing to go on hand in hand, he violently pulled his arm.

"Can we discuss this in private?" House hissed back, looking around to check no one was paying attention to them. "My citizenship was denied, they are deporting me unless I have a good reason to stay. The good reason will be you,  _sweetheart_." He walked to the elevator, leaving a paralyzed Wilson behind.

Wilson really stood still, gaping, not being able to catch the elevator before its doors closed and it went down. At each second waiting for it to come he was getting more indignant, and he just decided it would be better for him to walk and dissipate the raged incredulity that was emerging inside him in heavy steps. So he headed to the stairs, but at each meter he was getting angrier. When he reached House's office, he stormed in to face his boss, who was throwing a ball at the wall as if nothing had happened at all.

"Are you fucking out of your mind?" he younger roared even before releasing the door for it to close itself. House had heard that conclusion dozens of times only in that week. Some of them actually had come from Wilson, but never in that tone.

"If I'm deported, you're fired and you'll never see the chance of being head of oncology coming. I know you hate me, I know you hate this job, but you go on because you're waiting for a chance to prove yourself." House talked as if it was that simple. He never saw marriage as something more than a contract, and he couldn't care less about his reputation. In his head, there wasn't any complication in that plan, and he couldn't see why he wouldn't try it. "I know, you're all about that _'happily ever after'_ crap, but we'll get divorced as soon as possible, don't worry."

"You-" Wilson tried to reply, but laughed in indignation before pointing to House, getting closer. "I'll sue you if you do. You dare to fire me because I didn't went through a fake gay marriage to fool Immigration so you can get a green card and you'll have to call your lawyers. " He leaned his hand on the table. "From the U.K.!" He was possessed and his eyes were fiery - House probably had never seen him that way.

"I never said I'll fire you. But you are here because I am here, you know that. You'll probably be sent to ER if I'm deported, because Cuddy's too soft and will feel too sorry to just fire you, as she wouldn't do if she didn't sympathize with you. You're a good doctor? So are all the others. I know you're more than good, you deserve more. All I'm asking you is to help me." House stared into Wilson's eyes, and he talked like it was the most reasonable thing to do, and not some crazy attempt to stay in the country. "We'll be married in the paper, but that is all. Nobody needs to know."

Before House's calmness and kind words, Wilson was disarmed of his anger and lowered his tone.

"You're not asking me to take care of your cat while you travel. You're asking me to commit a crime. We can go to jail. And do you really think they will just buy it? They'll ask for material proofs, they'll talk to your family, they'll talk to mine, they'll ask about our plans for the future and things about each other. That guy there, back at Cuddy's office, he knows you're lying and he'll be even more thorough. I'm not doing it." He was less steady and firm than before, though, as if thinking it all through, its real implications for both sides.

"We're closeted, we're discreet. We didn't tell our families, and it is not needed. I'll leave some of my clothes in your place and you'll leave some in mine. Plans for the future: you want children and a dog, I just want the dog. We go out to have dinner sometimes, but we prefer to stay home. And no, you won't go to jail. Again." House smirked at the reminder. He could see Wilson was considering it, even if he couldn't say it yet. Maybe he just needed some more time to think, but he was right: that bastard wouldn't leave them alone until they were exchanging rings.

When Wilson realized he was starting to consider it, he stepped back.

"No. No way." he made a gesture of denial with both hands. "Find another employee who doesn't care about ruining his reputation or risking go to jail." he gave his back, feeling even dizzy, and went out the room.

House rolled his eyes and got up to follow Wilson. Holding the younger by his arm, House made him turn to face him and before he could say anything, he started talking.

"Hey, I know I'm asking too much, okay? It's just that... I can't go back. My life is here, there's nothing for me in England. Please, Wilson. You're my only hope." He tried to look as desperate as he felt, trying to get his subordinate by his heart. "I swear I won't get you into trouble, and if things start going wrong I'll confess everything. And if things go right, as I believe they will, you won't need to bring me coffee ever again."

"You don't-" Wilson narrowed his eyes, shaking his head slightly and looking away. He saw Cuddy down the hall, and stepped forward, towards House, to get closer. "Listen to me" he murmured between his teeth. "I won't risk my neck because you don't like cricket and tea with biscuits. You'll find a way to put me in the oncology, as a permanent, so I won't have to be your subordinate and put up with your shit ever again. "

Before House could answer, Cuddy approached with her fast steps on scarpins.

"You know they'll find out it's a scheme," She already came in saying. "and a poorly drawn one! Did he threaten you?" She looked Wilson with a troubled countenance. "We can work this out, he-"

"No, Dr. Cuddy." Wilson interrupted her, licking his dry lips. "I was- I was-" he cleaned his throat "It's sort of frightening for me, I was ever afraid of... people finding out about me. And I always knew, office thing, it's twice more complicated. But..." He awkwardly got closer to House and held his hand, something so ungainly that, combined with his stuttering, could be confused with shyness. "I can't risk losing him because of my fears. We are really... in love." A smirk trembled in his lips, trying to be a smile, and he lowered his head.

Cuddy looked from House to Wilson, trying to make some sense out of that situation.

House played cool, raising their hands to his lips to kiss the back of Wilson's hand the most naturally he could. "Yes, we're in love. Who knew I'd find someone who would complete me so well? I didn't even know how much I needed him."

"Who'd say..." Cuddy raised an eyebrow. "But why don't you tell me about your first date?"

"It wasn't really a date, we just happened to meet each other in the same..."

"He invited me me to watch Monster Truck." Wilson answered too quickly, almost at the same time as House. He looked at him before staring Cuddy again. "I-I- Ok, ok, He-didn't actually ask, I overheard he was going and went to tried to find him there." Wilson gave a nervous laughter and the most adorable smile he could, as if it was a weapon. "I don't like to admit I was stalking my boss." He looked down again.

House laughed. "I'm glad you did. It was an amazing night."

Cuddy crossed her arms, not looking convinced. "And the first kiss...?"

"In my front door, in the same night." House readily answered.

This time, Wilson waited, and just nodded after, with a closed smile. "Yeah. We had a couple beers, we had so much fun, it was like the natural course of things. I didn't even had to push it. Now I know he was into me before."

After the answer, Cuddy sighed, still frowning.

"And you just let him treat you the way he does everyday here?"

"It's an agreement we made for people not to find out before. And I take it out on him when we are in bed." he said it as if out of a joke and defiance, as much as to keep himself in control, but it didn't stop him from blushing.

"Come on, dear, I'm sure Cuddy doesn't want to know this much." House smiled at Wilson, thinking  _You'll regret this little joke of yours_.

Cuddy looked embarrassed but curious, and it was funny to watch her uneasiness.

"And what was it like, Wilson, when he proposed to you?"

Wilson's heart was racing already, and he asked himself if she wouldn't ever just give up and go away. He took a deep breath not to stutter, and it almost worked.

"I was... It- We just like driving away so no one would see us and bother us, you know. That day, we went to a really beautiful lake. You really don't need to know all the details of the afternoon." he chuckled and looked down once more. While staring at the floor, it went out really easier, as he was just having to imagine a pleasant scene whilst wearing that embarrassment as disguise. "The music, the twilight, well, I was feeling in heaven. Then, when we got to his place, he told me he had a gift for me, and they were the sheets of a song he had composed for me. He played it on the piano and asked me to marry him." When he looked at Cuddy again, he was really inside his own story, and he could play his part perfectly in that moment "I didn't want to face any of this sort of pressure you're all putting on us, but how could I ever say no? He's hell sometimes, but he's also worth it all." Even he himself couldn't believe how inside of the character he was then "He had trouble going down in one knee, it was the sweetest thing ever."

Cuddy looked enchanted by Wilson's story, and House realized he was still smiling, but much more naturally. It was a beautiful scene to picture, despite all the cliché with the lake and the twilight, one he could actually like.

"You had to have seen his face while I played the song, he was crying so much. He tried to stop me, but I couldn't just come and 'Hey, let's get married' over Chinese food or something alike. He means everything to me, it's just right that I show it when I can barely talk." House caressed Wilson's hand with his thumb, looking at him as if Cuddy wasn't there anymore. "I think he's the only one who's ever let me speechless, singing to me, loving me, making me feel a lot less miserable. Life is beautiful with him."

"It wasn't me who was crying, explain to her why you were speechless." Wilson pushed him slightly with his elbow, as if a cute provocation, but narrowing his eyes while staring at House. "He was hiccoughing, it's hard to believe. But I love it when I get to see him soft-hearted. It's a privilege of mine only, and I cherish it." he looked at Cuddy, smiling candidly. "Well, are we finished? I really need to go to work now."

Cuddy nodded once, looking a bit disturbed as if struggling to let herself believe in that story. It was too absurdly beautiful, too unlike the Gregory House she knew.

"Well, these are some of the questions they're gonna ask you, I'm sure there will be a lot more. The guy already hates you, House, don't give him reasons to think you're lying." She gave her back to them and started walking, but turned to face them again."Oh, and... Congratulations to the couple."

When she was away, House whispered to Wilson.

"Music, twilight, lake? Add it to your obsession with your hair and clothes and people won't think twice about your latent homosexuality."

"Fuck you." Wilson pulled his hand again. "If we are going through it, you better make me the happiest husband in the world. I do love chocolate,  _sweetie_. And going home at five. Oh, and you'll have to write a song for me, we would't like the Immigration to find out you're making this up. That will be so romantic." he said sarcastically," I have until the interview to change my mind." he pointed at House. "I'll say you threatened me and made my life hell, and  _that_  they will believe. Don't make me."

"Everything for my cute little bear." House smirked sarcastically. "What a waste of a great dramatic actor in a doctor. I could almost believe in all that fairy-tale you created. You're so romantic for someone who'll marry for... Well, let's forget about it. Later we'll discuss the details. Tell me about the cases you separated for me."

"I am over 30 and I can already say marriage for love hasn't actually worked for me so far." He put his hands in the pockets of his coat. "Since I lied this way to Cuddy, I already consider myself fired, and, well, I was considering quitting anyway when you put me in this situation. But I would like to keep a bit of my reputation, if you don't mind, for all the means. So keep it low." He stepped back "I need to think now. Your cases are on your office table, beside the computer." He gave his back and walked out. "See you later,  _pumpkin pie_."

House watched Wilson for a while, then headed to his own office. There was indeed a lot to think, but he'd leave it for later. For the moment, things were going well and that's what mattered.


	2. Edge of something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I don't need a vision; I'm just waiting on collisions of the brain and the heart."
> 
> Jamie Cullum, "Edge of Something".

They had lunch together, but besides talking about leaving clothes in each other's places, Wilson didn't say much and ate fast, leaving him as soon as he could. The afternoon went on as usual, and none of the cases seemed interesting enough until one of the patients, who looked like a simple case of pneumonia, started to bleed all of a sudden. Trying to figure out what happened was something to do while the hours passed, until the end of the expedient. He went to his place to pick up some clothes and a big paper envelop, sealed, looking old. He hasn't thought about that in a long while, but it was ironic to be in such a situation that it would be useful. The way to Wilson's place was haunted by the ghost of a brunette woman with a smart smile, and the feeling of resentment mixed with defeat, that he tried to ignore without succeeding.

Throughout the day, Wilson was really far away. His mind was trying to convince him of how stupid he was being, and how it would mock him forever if things went wrong. Well, if things went wrong, he would be screwed enough for the self-humiliation not to be needed. Somehow, though, he seemed to be inside it already, in too deep. The idea of stop working for House and working with House was really inviting, at the same time that he was feeling old already to be fired or coming back to the ER. He was caring a bit less than he wanted about his reputation and that women knew about his said homosexuality. Maybe it had hit him just in a time that he had been through so much crazy relationships, one after another, with mad, possessive women, and being able or not to have a relationship wasn't on his priorities anymore. There was plenty to weight, but, instead of walking out, he just ended up making plans that suited House's intentions.

In the end of the shift, House was in his place and he had already taken the trouble to himself as his own.

"What do you think about Vermont?"

"You know the place doesn't matter to me, honey bunny, as long as we end up together for life." House almost sang those words, like a slow love song. "Vermont is a beautiful place, it will suit our fairy-tale romance. Maybe we could even find some trained dogs to bring the rings, some blue butterflies flying after our first kiss as husband and husband... But there will like, five people there, maybe we can forget about the butterflies." He had to confess it was fun to be there, making up the story of their love. Wilson's place had a comfortable atmosphere, or maybe it was just the sofa. The younger was already rolling eyes when House was mocking something extremely practical: Vermont, gay marriage, the distance from anyone who could hear about it outside the hospital, and a trip for free. He threw himself on the couch, beside him, already ready counter-argue, until he heard House's following sentence. "Well, next question. What's your favorite sex position?"

Wilson gasped in the thin air.

"Wha- No, whoa, I don't think they'll ask this."

House kept his face steady, as if he really meant it. "They'll be twice as hard on us, dear. First because Tritter is sure we're lying, and second because we're lying about being gay. If we show any sign of being too uncomfortable about it... And come on, it's just a question."

Wilson shook his head, a strained smile on his face. "This is madness." He looked at House and shrugged nervously "I don't know, I don't have one, much less a gay favorite sexual position." When he started picturing it, he had to look away to send the thoughts off, before the awkwardness devoured him. "What would yours be?"

House pretended to think seriously about it, wanting to let Wilson the most embarrassed he could.

"Well, I like to see their faces. You can tell them I like when you ride me." House grinned as Wilson blushed even more furiously. "I need a lot of foreplay, and you love to tease. You like to hear me speaking to you, with my hoarse voice and British accent . I think they'll be satisfied by this point, but I'd add that you enjoy resting your head over my chest when we're still panting."

Wilson laughed, uneasy, and, since he needed to do something, he got up. He knew House was saying it to make him uncomfortable, but there was also some wicked logic in it. Nevertheless, he also needed not to let him win it so easily.

"Right, that's a good one." he placed his hands in his waist and walked to the middle of the room "and about me, then..." forcing the tone as if he was talking strict business, with a hint of irony that he used to shield himself. "To match your story, then, you can say I love it when you beg me, and that I always end up making you beg, I'm such a fantastic lover. Oh, and you say you like to see their faces, and they'll put us in separate rooms in a point. You can tell them how I lose it completely when you give me head." he painted an 'eureka' look in his face, like it was merely a good idea to fit a plan "I mean, I thought you had to had a lot of training to deep throat like that in so little time from the first blowjob you gave in a man." Wilson finally was able to stare at him again, with a look of defiance in his face. "Or wasn't I your first? Tell me, sugar cube, you mustn't have secrets with your future husband."

House raised his eyebrows, never taking his eyes from Wilson.

'Look who's just passed through the blushing phase and got nasty. It's exactly like Britney Spears losing her virginity. The good virgin girl image at least." Crossing his arms behind his head, resting his feet over the coffee table, he went on. "You don't mind it, do you? Well, if you do you can say this is one of my insufferable habits that you secretly love. Let me think... You weren't my first, I've never had problems with my sexuality, unlike you who always hid behind all those crazy women, terrified of someone finding out about your real instincts. I don't see why I'd just tell the world, and since I go both ways, people are never sure about me. Am I right, sunshine? Was I your first?"

"First of all, lovey dovey, I do mind." He pointed at House's legs on the table. "Second, we'd say I'm bisexual too, if you forgot that I don't intend us to live happily ever after. So, yeah." he sat down beside House again, frowning. "I guess it's easier to come up with the idea that you were my first. I'll probably just lose the train of thoughts if they ask me about previous relationships with men. Do you think it would be a problem, you know, that they don't buy it if I just say the 'I had never felt this way before' or 'Maybe I always knew there was something missing' crap?"

"No, I think you need to be more like 'it's all about love', it suits you. 'I didn't even noticed I was in love' and then try to look a bit stunned, as if it was something too great for you to understand, something that consumes your whole soul and you can't really talk about it." It all sounded real, intimate, and so unlike House, but still could be seen in his whole face. It lasted just for one moment though. "We need to give the right impression. It's not some desperate love story, it wasn't love at first sight, we were not looking for it. It just happened, and it was the best it could ever happen. They are expecting us to be dramatic summer love, but we need to look like more than that, something permanent."

The way House said it made Wilson pay attention carefully, as if the other was a movie director trying to make his actors feel the way he did about the script. And Wilson was really caught.

"Yeah, I was going to say something about it. It was a burst when we said it to Cuddy, but we can work on this. The small details that really tell someone cares truly, much more than heated speech." There, it was all some sort of art, rather than a plan. "I mean, I have to love the way you sleep and hate the way you steal the blankets. You have to pretend you like my food because I cook for you. This sort of thing. And not too much, because it's not like you. Just once or twice. There's this thing with people that don't care at all like you, at the slightest sign of kindness, everyone is moved to tears. It's really unfair. But that's why I decided you were worth the risks I was taking in coming out" He loosened his body on the sofa, bringing out the mocking tone again, only to let it fade in the next question. "Funny thing that I care so little about those said risks now." Reality mixed itself with the story told there, in a moment of shallowness inside his deep brown eyes. He sighed and shrugged. "Well, I sleep prone, mainly. And, since I use to take cooking classes, I always need a willing gourmet."

"I sleep supine, and I love pancakes in the morning, despite never preparing them for myself. Too much trouble just to eat something before leaving home." It's been a real long time since he enjoyed talking to someone. Really enjoying, and not just killing time. Wilson was... Not boring. Interesting, not because of what he did or what he said, but the way he could sound naive and still smart, hopeful but with his both feet on the ground. "Is there anything important about your family I need to know? Just the basic, something I could have listened while you talked on the phone, for example."

Wilson's face turned serious, and he swallowed hard. There was an entirely new expression in his face, and he stared at his own hands. After some seconds in silence, he took a breath. "My mother Sophie was Jewish, and my father Henry was a protestant. One of my brothers, Nicholas, lives in Pennsylvania and runs the construction business he started with my father, and the other, Daniel, suffers from schizophrenia and disappeared when I was in college. I haven't seen him in nine years and I don't know if he's alive." He said it fast, as if not to be given much importance. "Yours?"

House perceived there was something in all that story that made Wilson's face full of something other than sadness, guilt perhaps. He took a deep breath before answering. "My mother, Blythe, lives in Liverpool with my... father, John, who's a retired Marine pilot. No siblings. I don't think they'll ask something other than this." He spoke nonchalantly, as if talking about the weather, clearly wanting to end the subject. "Do you have any birthmarks, scars...?"

Sighing in relief, Wilson frowned briefly, as if trying to remember. "No, I don't think so. I just have a bit of a freckled back and shoulders." He unconsciously gestured to his own leg. "What about your leg? Is it important you to tell me the details? How big is the scar?"

House looked away, always hating to explain what happened, to remember of that big hideous scar in his right thigh. He said it fast, to get rid of that quickly. "An infarction that led to tissue necrosis, six years ago. The doctors took too long to find out what was happening, and removing just the said muscle caused chronic pain. One mistake after another... The scar's five inches long. I also have a scar in the abdomen and one in the neck, two shots."

Wilson felt heavy and cleaned his throat.

"Ok, in the evenings, that soap opera you love to watch, I say I hate it and I sometimes watch it with you just to be with you. You can say I do it because I secretly like it." Wilson's smile was heartwarming by itself, it didn't even need to hit it at the right person or at the right time. And there, it would be. He perceived House's true discomfort and it made him feel bad, too – so he'd change the subject again. "What else do we like to watch together, angel?"

"Well, cupcake, we sometimes watch some of those old classic movies you seem to love so much." A lot more relaxed, House nodded in the wall's direction, to the movie posters hanging on the wall." I'll say you cry every time Rhett Butler leaves Scarlett in Gone With The Wind. Liking to watch soap opera with me is a shame for such a cult movie purist who has a crush on Gregory Peck. Or do you prefer someone more like Humphrey Bogart?" Smiling suggestively, he went on. "Of course, we can always watch Monster Truck, that is of course the best option."

"I'll say I couldn't understand my feelings towards Charlton Heston in Touch of Evil. My first gay instinct." He rest his elbow in the back of the sofa and pulled his leg bent, in order to turn to House a little bit more. "I do like noir movies. But Monster Truck... Monster Truck is art." He laughed, easily, comfortable. "Come on, that much violence and the roar of powerful engines, it's the best thing. It renews my soul. Can we reboot it and say you proposed to me when we were inside one of those? I'd be yours forever."

"Good to know, huggy bear, that we share such an awesome hobby. We could really go together next time, what do you say?" House winked, playfully. "It would be an awesome story, but your cute fairy-tale proposal is easier to prove. I've even brought you your song, love." House points to the white envelope he left over the table, briefly. "Lucky us, I've already had something ready. It's not the easiest thing in the world, composing music."

"I know, but you had it coming." Wilson got up, still smiling, and picked the envelop. "And I surely deserve all the work you had, don't I, darling?" He gave another provocative look to House. "You can't measure our love." he raised it and carefully opened the envelop. "I would actually love to hear it. When I go to your place, you can play it for me. Do you want something to eat or to drink?"

"Of course I'll play for you, I'd love to see you crying helplessly, my beloved fiancé. Do you have any beer? By the way," House turned to face Wilson. "I don't even know if you drink. I'd say you don't, but you're... I have to admit you're not exactly as I expected."

Wilson got up, with a smirk. I can say the same, he thought, but for some reason, he preferred not to say. He was always too eager to like people and it could be this again. But what he had thought that would be hell was turning out to be a really good time. "I have a beer. I always have it in the fridge, but sometimes it is there for a long time." he gave his back, walking to the kitchen. "I like to drink, but sometimes it's pointless for me to drink by myself." He opened the fridge, and the smile was stuck in his face. When he came back, he had two beer bottles in his hands, handing one to House." I am a bit hungry. I was thinking about ordering Chinese. Are you planning on going home soon?"

"I'll stay for as long as you give me food, beer and entertainment." He raised his bottle a bit, as a cheer, and took a long sip. If he thought about it, in his home he'd find his piano, his television, his bed, his bottles of liquor, his pills, his solitude. It felt good to just sit and chat with Wilson, and it could have something to do with that aura of warm friendship the younger created around himself, surrounding everybody around him. Wilson seemed to be enjoying his company too, and it gave House a sensation of... he couldn't tell exactly, but something that made him feel good inside." And I've still got to know everything that is to know about my honey bee."


	3. Under pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Insanity laughs; under pressure we're breaking.  
> Can't we give ourselves one more chance?"  
> Queen & David Bowie, "Under Pressure".

Wilson's smile in approval went on like that through the night, as they talked about personal behavior and routine like it was some sort of regular entertainment for two people to be having. When the Chinese food arrived, the younger also picked a notebook from a drawer to start taking notes of the dates, schedules and punctual stuff. He was already used to do agenda under House's sarcasm, but in that night, the aggressiveness of his said fiance was more and more directed to everything but Wilson, and for that while, his mocking words didn't sound personally disrespectful or humiliating.

"I don't know, about twenty minutes or half an hour. I blow dry my hair, you already know that." After taking some notes, Wilson said, leaving the pen on the couch and holding again his food box, not seeming slightly ashamed. "But that bitch is really with my blow dryer, I don't know what I'm supposed to do with life."

"You'll get over it, you'll buy another one and won't think about it anymore. Even better, let's put it on the gifts list. Of course we could always turn her life into hell until she give it back to you, it could be fun." House didn't notice he was saying 'we' so frequently; making plans for the future that he wanted to happen, combining answers that ended up being real enough to say some truth among the lies, and having fun like old friends.

The younger turned his head slightly to the side, as if considering it; then shook his head, sighing. "I'd love to do it, but if she gets pissed and wants some revenge, it would be hard to explain my affair with her. I wouldn't ever be unfaithful to my beloved fiance." House giggled and blinked slowly, like a blushing lady who's just heard words of praise. "It seems you have a thing for the crazy and needy ones."

Wilson shrugged. "She's indeed needy and crazy. I would try to talk myself out of this, but I am in a situation I must agree." He played with the  _hashis_  mindlessly, staring at his food, then looking back at House from under his eyebrows. "Well, I haven't actually changed this tendency in my new sweetheart, have I?" he smirked.

"Honey, I'm not like anyone you've ever had." House winked and they laughed together.

Among wedding plans and chit chat the time passed, and the full moon was high in the sky by the time they said goodbye. It was hard to believe it was actually working - hard to believe such a thing could happen all of sudden. In the way home, he wasn't smiling, but he felt like smiling all the time. Sometimes that will was just too strong, and a half-grin ended up showing itself in the corner of his lips. House was sure that soon that fascination would fade and he would just be his same old self, but he had been wrong before. Finding out he actually wanted to be wrong about didn't really feel shocking as he fell asleep easily.

On the other hand, Wilson had a hard time in sleeping. He had his arms crossed behind his head, too much to think and a sweet excitation still taking over his senses, something he'd call joy. He had taken the Immigration issue to himself as a personal problem, completely inner, like running away wasn't an option anymore. He wondered how could the insufferable boss that made his life hell every day could have given him the best time he had in a long while. He haven't felt this comfortable with someone in ages, even though it meant exactly being the opposite of all thing he found certain, way outside his comfort zone. Turning on the bed and finally starting to get sleepy, he tried to convince himself he was just too overwhelmed by novelty, the plans and the challenge. "Don't fool yourself, James, men are all the same", he thought, chuckling to himself in the middle of the night, and it'd be the last thing he would remember from that improbable night.

Though he hadn't slept much, he was awake on time in the next morning, enough for Jillian to hand him the two cups of coffee still steaming hot. He smiled at her as if it was no news at all; he just had that tired smile pointed at the morning itself, while walking to House's office, secretly hoping it wouldn't be ripped off his face but already aware it was probable to happen.

House mirrored Wilson's smile briefly when he saw him through the glass. Leaning his back on his chair with an unreadable expression, he observed as the younger entered his office, silently. When his cup of coffee was placed in front of him, he smiled and spoke in an extremely sweet way, blinking slowly. "How kind of you, sunflower, to have all this trouble just to bring coffee to me." At that distance he could see the signs of a bad night's sleep and smiled suggestively. "Couldn't sleep because of me, love? Did you wish I was there to warm you in a tight embrace? Oh, you're even wearing a new shirt. I must say I'm amazed." Sipping the hot coffee, he noticed something wasn't right. House frowned at it, and then looked at Wilson. "I think you gave me your coffee, Wilson. There's more sugar in it then in the entire average american daily diet, God, how do you still got your teeth?"

"I ask myself this every day, marshmallow, when you start being punchable." The most indifferent way he could, Wilson reached out for the coffee and House handed it to him, switching cups. "Sorry, I'm sure I was too distracted, my night was awful, I don't ever never ever wanna be alone in that immense bed without my love muffin holding me close." He pouted, faking a hurt expression, which he disarmed in the moment after, placing the files he had with him on the table. "I was talking to Chase, he handed me the file of woman who had an anaphylactic shock inside a clean room. And he was smiling suspicious, as if he knew something. Did you tell him?"

"Yes, I've invited him to be my maid of honour. Cameron too, but not Foreman because I'm only inviting people with great hair." House opened the woman's file and read it quickly. "Well, someone will have to check the room. Unless..." He said it without raising his eyes from the paper, and then got up, still holding the file. "I didn't tell anybody. You made it sure you'd only marry me if you could remain in the closet, and I'd rather spend a lifetime hiding than losing you, Candy." He smiled bravely, as if self-sacrificing. "I need someone to see her, I'm sure you'll do it amazingly well. Talk to everyone who visited her in the last two, three days. Ask about any changes in her food, her house, and ask the boyfriend how they managed to avoid the latex allergy." He talked about both subjects at the same time, but Wilson was already used to it, after those first weeks doing his best to understand everything and avoid being the object of House's blunt sarcasm more frequently than he already was. Walking out of his office, followed by Wilson, House noticed the glances at their direction and raised his eyebrow.

Wilson lowered his head and smiled hard. "I suppose I haven't spilled anything in my new shirt and that my hair isn't that heinous", he said it between teeth, "but I'd say they're either thrilled to give the happy couple congratulations or really disgusted with the whole idea." He looked at House with a nonchalance that sounded just a bit forced. "I don't think it's all homophobia, they may be afraid of how I owe you my soul or of the drugs you might have given to me."

"Oh, don't worry, it's me. I always cause this type of reaction when I'm wearing these shoes." House shrugged and walked in the middle of the corridor, amidst the curious looks of nurses and doctors. "Of course this tie of yours can be the reason too, I never knew green could shine this way." Passing by the lab, he saw Cameron looking at something in the microscope through the glass, and opened the door. "Whatever you're doing, stop and go talk to the whoever lives with the woman who had an anaphylactic shock, be friendly and all that crap, ask about the said clean room. The patient's name is... What is the patient's name, Wilson?" House turned to ask, despite having the file in his hands.

"Clara Caplin, 47." He said, before taking the file from House's hand and sighing. "Cameron knows it already, she was the one who took the patient's medical history."

"We are running her blood tests." She said, with a curious look in her face as her eyes went from one doctor to another. "I'll talk to her and get consent to check on the clean room."

Wilson nodded in a practical way, smiling cordially to her. "We meet in your office soon", he said to House with the same smile, and held his arm for a moment before giving his back and walking out.

House watched Wilson as he left the room, and then looked back to Cameron, with his eyes narrowed and accusingly. "I know you're dying inside to ask."

She blushed and looked at the microscope again. "It's none of my business."

"Well, too bad, I was dying to tell you all the details." House turned to leave the room, but Cameron called him before he got to the door.

"House. I'm happy for you." Her smile lacked strength, but it was sincere.

He smiled back, a small smile that could mean he was trying to hide his joy and go on as if nothing was happening without succeeding. Nodding slightly, he left the room. The same glances were everywhere he looked, and it didn't take long to get tiresome. House then headed to his office, waiting for everybody to appear and discuss the case.

It was near the end of the afternoon when Wilson came back to the hospital. It was tiring and one of the things he liked less in his job - hopefully, also one of those he wouldn't have to bear for much longer. This thought now annoyed him. It would be so convenient if he married his boss and suddenly got a promotion. But he couldn't afford being proud when he was already all in (he always thought he was all in, for any reason). He couldn't think that it was dumb to imagine the hospital wouldn't know, because it would lead him to realize how stupid he was being only in taking part of it. So he couldn't, and he wouldn't. There was a good idea in his mind, something that came from only reasoning and experience, to make himself sure of how much of a good doctor he could be, even if the diagnosis would be right or wrong - better right, of course. So he was anxious to get to try it.

When he reached House's office, he was reunited with Chase, Cameron and Foreman, the doctors on the case, all staring at the sketched white board. Opening the door, Wilson attracted the looks to him, but it had been so the entire day so far. "What if she wasn't allergic in the first place?"

Foreman, who was speaking seconds before Wilson arrived, looked annoyed. Chase smirked and waited for House's answer, while Cameron remained steady. House was curious, and his attention was all Wilson's. "Explain." Foreman was about to interrupt, but House made a gesture for him to wait, never taking his eyes off of Wilson. "No, let him talk. What's your hypothesis?"

Wilson really thought House would make some sort of joke around it, and he was even counting on this. Something like  _sure, let's forget all the other symptoms, too, if we cut out this, this and this, she is just constipated._  Instead, House shut them up for they all to listen. Wilson hesitated just a second. "Gastric medullary carcinoma with carcinoid syndrome."

Foreman shook his head "If it were just mimicking the flush reactions of an allergy, maybe the other doctors could have mistaken it for allergy. But she  _had_  an allergic reaction inside here. We had her histamine level, we could tell the difference." Foreman said, and Wilson just let him, since he seemed pissed to have been interrupted.

Then, before anyone could intervene, Wilson went on.

"I didn't say she didn't have an anaphylactic shock in here, I just said the first reason wasn't allergy. When the carcinoma is in the GI tract, the carcinoid syndrome, which is already rare, generally occurs when the carcinoma is so advanced it overwhelms the liver's ability to metabolize serotonin. In addition to the increased serotonin, the syndrome can make the body secrete kallikrein, neuropeptides..."

"And histamine." Chase completed, showing he followed the train of thoughts, nodding as if considering it.

Wilson nodded and concluded, looking at House. "Then the late anaphylactic shock."

House stared at Wilson for a while, not showing any sign of approval or disapproval. Something glimpsed in his eyes just before he raised his eyebrows and whistled. "Well, test her blood for serotonin, her urine for metabolites and do an MRI." House narrowed his eyes and smiled lightly, almost unconsciously. Foreman looked outraged. "I don't think it's the case. It's clearly autoimmune. If you..."

"I know it's hard for you to lose, but Wilson's got a point. A much more interesting point than yours." With a puzzled look, House asked Wilson. "What made you think so?"

"While I was talking to her. She was too overexcited, and too optimistic. If it weren't just psychological or a trace of character, she could have hypomania. Her pupils were slightly dilated and she shivered from time to time, very discreetly. CT scan eliminated something neurological. Her relatives told she wasn't always happy like that. When I started to think about serotonin as a symptom I was in my lunch time, and decided to eat something on the car so I could drive to the hospital she was on before and talk to her previous doctor." When he started to get excited on telling the story, he braked the speech. House would be bored. "Well, one thing led to another. Cameron was informing me of the test results. I was away and I guessed with what I had."

House raised his eyebrow for a short while, and then shrugged. "Hm. Clever."

"You're just saying it because you can't disagree with your boyfriend or you'll end up sleeping on the couch. There's a life at stake here, which is much more important than your relationship." Foreman said loudly, immediately followed by a heavy silence.

House just played it cool.

"Well, if you had half of the style and were half as smart... Too bad I'm already taken." His tone was sharp, but not aggressive. "Just go and do the damn MRI before she gets worse if you care so much about her life."

"It's not because you found out today that it started today. And you have seen him disagree with me or my deductions before. I don't get personally offended." Wilson spoke, and his tone had something that would complete his sentence with  _unlike you_. Chase had his entertained smile. "Looks like Foreman is pissed that he is not the one who'll get a congratulation kiss"

"Don't mirror in me your frustration he is taken, Chase." Foreman snorted.

"Oh, stop it, you all", Cameron got up. "this is ridiculous, you're acting like little boys. Would it kill you to show a bit of respect?"

"Why should I?" Chase shrugged. "House loves to expose our dirty little secrets for everyone as much as he can," he said with a mocking tone, "and now I don't even think it's any of a secret anymore."

"I wish. It seems the whole place knows it already. But if it means more gifts, that's fine for me." House said. "Since we're not getting married right here or right now, I think you can go do your job."

Chase looked at Foreman, and then back at House. "In fact, we had a kind of a bet. When we found out, some of us didn't believe, and most of the doctors bet it was a lie... The condition for it to be real was a kiss. So, would you mind? Since Cameron is not participating, she'll be the main witness and..."

"I never agreed with anything." She interrupted. House realized he wouldn't mind, but he was sure Wilson would put off that kiss for as long as he could.

Wilson's heart was throbbing since he heard the word  _bet_ , as he realized what was going on. "This is ridiculous. I have nothing to prove to you." He narrowed his eyes to both the doctors on the bet. But he was being dared, it wouldn't be the last time and he couldn't step back. It was just another challenge. "B-but you want a kiss, fine." When he turned his back to them, he swallowed hard and his eyes were agitated. He didn't leave time for House to do anything; he was sure it was a needed movement, House was aware of it and he wouldn't be repelled. When theirs eyes met, in just a fraction of a moment, it was readable the  _let's just get it over with_. He merely placed one hand in House's shoulder and touched his lips to the other's - nearly skimmed, for an instant not much longer than the look they shared. "Happy now?" He was trembling vaguely as he frowned back to Chase. "Can we go back to work?"

"Come on, that doesn't even count as a kiss." Cameron was giggling quietly.

House raised his eyebrows to her.

"And where's all that talk about respect?"

She just smiled in response, and Chase grinned. "A  _real_  kiss, if you don't mind.", he dared.

House didn't even have time to feel Wilson's lips over his own, but the younger seemed to be panicking. It was part of it, it was expected, but it was too soon. Hoping Wilson wouldn't be mad at him later, he held both sides of his face and looked into the brown eyes as if saying  _It'll be over soon._  In those few seconds, House realized he hadn't thought about what it could be like for Wilson not even once, and caring about that was at least strange. Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips against Wilson's, slowly, softly.

Wilson found himself grabbing House's T-shirt, arms locked around his waist, the most frightened, and then awkward, look on his face. From the moment House placed his hands on his jaw and his thumbs skimmed in his cheeks, his thoughts tried to think it through. The two responses one could have - correspond or repel - were both denied to him, and he remained in the limbo of an unknown third option.  _Ok, ok, close your eyes_. The darkness was quite as scary.  _He must know what he's doing, so follow his lead._ And so he did.  _Put your hands on him_. There you are.  _Should I hug him?_  He was hugging already. Feeling the scratch of his stubble and the soft touch over his lips, one even moist from House's inner lips on his upper, was really too much - he tried to follow by letting himself caught House's downer lip between his, just to go along and not to break the flow, but it made him shivery. It wasn't meant to last. Opening his mouth slightly and moving their heads discreetly to give the illusion of a real kiss, they made it quick and simple, separating their lips after some long seconds, and Wilson silently thanked that in the moment after those movements were over. House then looked into those eyes again, searching for signs of discomfort, feeling strangely worried.

When House looked at him, then, as if able to read him, Wilson was suddenly afraid of have ruined something he wasn't even sure what it was. He swallowed hard. "There you go", he whispered, meaning them to the others, but keeping on staring House until one smirk showed itself briefly and it was too awkward to keep doing it. He turned to the room, releasing the fabric beneath his fingers but still holding on his waist, without stepping back, more as if his legs were frozen.

House did the same, and assumed a practical tone. "Isn't there a woman about to die somewhere if some doctors didn't run the tests to find out if it's carcinoma? I think there is, but I always get so distracted whenever I get the chance to kiss my future husband. It would be a pity if said doctors didn't remember about running the tests and the patient died, wouldn't it?" Chase, Cameron and Foreman then left the room, laughing, and House let go of Wilson, looking away from his eyes. The night before had sent away every thought about whether it was right or wrong to put Wilson into that madness, and he had somehow forgotten things wouldn't be all fun and games. "Well, the shift is almost over, and I know you're eager to go home after all these... things that happened."

"Yeah, I-" Wilson blinked too fast, placing his hands on his waist. "No, I'll... I'll help them run the tests. The last thing we want is that they have reasons to mess with me any more. I'll have to be there to... give her the news. Maybe it would be a good thing if I'm wrong." He said it all looking at the aisle.  _Surely it would, James,_ he snorted at himself. "Oh, and..." he cleared his throat, "We need to... the trip, to Vermont. I looked for tickets and hotel, maybe we would need some guests, I..." It was really hard to look at House again there, and, when he got to do it, he gave up, stepping back again. "I'll mail you it all. Check it later." Awkwardly, he gave his back and walked out the room.


	4. D is for Dangerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I think you should know you're his favorite worst nightmare."
> 
> Arctic Monkeys, "D is for Dangerous".

They didn't see each other on that day anymore, but Wilson remained in House's thoughts. He played that scene over and over in his mind, until it was just a confusing memory made of lips, shivers and awkwardness. Later, at home, listening mindlessly to the sound of the television while his thoughts were somewhere else, he still couldn't tell what he had felt back then. In the moment he was just too light headed to pay attention because of the sudden change in plans. Had Wilson refused he wouldn't push it, even if it meant bringing suspicion over them.

The feelings and impressions of the kiss came all at once, long after it took place, when his heart was beating in its normal rhythm again. Did he liked it? It was only a kiss, it didn't matter much. Did Wilson liked it? It wasn't likely. Tiptoing around those questions didn't help. He caught himself wanting desperately to know Wilson's opinion on it. Thinking about Vermont, hotel rooms, guests, that surely wouldn't help. Thinking a little ahead was unavoidable. They'd be married for some time. And then? Divorce, a relieved goodbye and each one with his own life? For the very first time, he caught himself thinking whether he should go ahead with it or not. There wasn't any other option, sure. But... He liked Wilson. He didn't want to cause him distress or discomfort, and how did that happen? Sighing, he thought about how Wilson's lips felt on his own, again and again, and not coming to any conclusion. He wanted to try again, for real this time, to really pay attention and to be kissed back. It bothered him enourmously that it all sounded like some poor excuse for more. It was only a kiss. A hurried, clumsy, fake kiss. He couldn't help wondering, though, what it would be like if it was real. If they both wanted it.

If Wilson really had any problem with being taken for gay, he would certainly be terrified. Mainly because he hasn't only been thrown out of a closet he didn't even had idea he would be in, but also to realize how much House was inside his thoughts. And not that he was  _sure_  of his sexuality, only that he didn't have any problem with the concept at all. Who cares about what people think about him? He always cared too much, every time, and it was a shock treatment he was giving himself. Sure he didn't want Nick to find out, but he hasn't been talking to him since... since a long time ago. House's steadiness was news to him, to someone who had always been someone else's cornerstone.

Although he wasn't terrified, then, he was most surely disturbed. The thing was, it needed it to stop. The tip of fingers colder in his face came to his mind when he was driving home. The pressure against his mouth in the middle of his dinner. The slightly moist touch of inner lips, in an uncoordinated that he could be ashamed of. It had been really weird, and he couldn't say he liked it when he was so relieved it was over. But the lip to lip touch and holding on to him in that situation felt like some sort of safety inside the sea of madness, when he consciously knew that the madness was Gregory himself. God, it would be madness if he liked it. House, that psycho, he would love to play with it if he could. Wilson needed to keep it really, strictly professional, like the role it was. Next time – he needed to know there would probably be one – he'd try to do it like an actor. It was a role to play, and if he got lost inside it he would be ruined once and for all. When Wilson was again losing his sleep over House, he came to this conclusion. It would be terrible if he made a big deal out of it. He reached for his phone in the nightstand and texted House.

_"I think we should arrive together tomorrow. If you see this message in the morning, let me know if you want a lift to work."_

House's phone buzzed over his chest, and the message made him feel relieved, as if it was a sign that things were all right.

_"You go to work too early, I don't particularly enjoy watching the sunrise. I'm only agreeing with it if you bring me breakfast."_ , he answered, smirking.

Wilson didn't expect an answer so quickly. He read it, smirking, and answered.

_"We can be a bit late and you say you kept me home for a quickie. You're so insatiable, tiger."_  After he sent it, he started typing another one  _"I'll bring you the pancakes I make for myself. But don't get used to it",_  he sent it, still smirking to the screen.

House laughed loudly at the screen, and immediately started typing.

_"We wouldn't be late because of the quickie, sugar plum, but because you'd take forever to tidy your hair after that. Why don't you prepare the pancakes here?"_  He didn't take his eyes off of the screen, waiting for the answer.

_"then I'd be in your place even earlier. Do you really want me to?"_  He sent it, not even noticing he was hoping so./

_"It's fine, I can do this giant sacrifice for pancakes. I just hope they're worth it. Let's have breakfast together, gummy bear."_  The ridiculous nick names, that were a form of annoying Wilson, had become a kind of a hobby for him. With his smile never fading completely, he sent the message.

Wilson chuckled, " _I'll be there at 8, k? If you don't like them then you can have me with syrup. But I'm terribly sorry to inform you, cutiepie, you will like them."_  It was so addictive, this kind of joke, he wasn't even putting it into reason.

_"Bring the maple syrup, there isn't any here, and it seems we'll need a lot of it. You can't just put these images in my head and think some pancakes will satisfy me. See u at 8 then, puppy eyes."_

Wilson didn't notice he bit his inner lip before smirking again. " _See ya then. Dream I'm there to hold you close, bubbles.",_ he left his phone on the nightstand not to go on. He wondered if he had pushed too hard the dirty and loving jokes to be just playing cool, but he dismissed the thought. He was just showing everything was alright. Then, smiling, he was finally able to sleep.

Feeling lighter, House finally got up from the sofa and headed to his bedroom.

Sleep came quickly, and so did the morning. He woke up when Wilson rang the doorbell, and he, still drowsy, wondered for a second what could be that annoying sound. He walked to the front door and opened it, yawning.

"I didn't even know there was a doorbell in here. Come in." House gestured to the room, as an invite for Wilson to enter. "Now you look how I look like when I wake up, and I still think you sleep exactly like this. What's the thing with shirts? Better, what's your thing with ties?"

"Good morning for you too, spring sun-ray." Wilson passed through, entering the room with a small paper bag in his hand. "I'm just wearing proper clothes for work." Getting inside the living room, he turned to House again, looking around the place. Then looking at his hair, he raised his eyebrows "Oh, it looks like your cool bed head hairstyle is really genuine."

House shrugged. "I'm naturally handsome, I know that's what let you so crazy about me." Rubbing his eyes with his fingers, he went on. "Well, make yourself at home. I'll wash my face to really feel that I'm awake and change clothes, would you mind waiting? I don't know what I could do to help, if you want to start without me, the kitchen's over there."

Wilson looked inside the paper bag he brought. "First, I brought some clothes of mine." he handed them to House. "Second..." he carefully picked a white envelope. "my song." He smirked, leaving the sheets on the center table. "I don't know if you'd like better to play it at night or whatever, but it's here. I am really curious." he glanced at House. And... if you don't mind, I can look around your kitchen. They frequently ask things about the places that the things are in each other's houses. If there's somewhere you don't want me to look, just let me know." he stepped towards the kitchen, slowly, as if waiting for a sign to confirm.

"I don't have secrets with my cherry pie. Go on." As Wilson walked into the kitchen, he spoke a little louder, for the other to hear. "It's been some time since I've played it, but if you want to hear it before we leave, that's fine. You could leave it for after shift too, we could have dinner, I don't know. If you need anything, just say it."

House went to his bedroom first, to put Wilson's clothes with his own in the closet, and then to the bathroom. He stared at his hair for a while, until deciding that there was nothing to be done with it. Back at his room, he chose a light blue shirt to wear over a white T-shirt, buttoning it only enough to be casual. He put on jeans and shoes, and walked to the kitchen, leaning on the wall and looking at Wilson silently.

The way House looked at him made slightly uncomfortable. The older doctor had such an ability of being powerfully concentrated that made Wilson sure that he could read him like a map, and it left the impression that he was doing exactly this in that moment. He had the blender on, and it was his cue to remain silent, paying attention on what he needed to do. When it was off, Wilson gave the older man a half-smile and looked at the mixture again, holding the frying pan, standing before the stove. It was ready quickly.

"About the song, I don't want to hurry it." he said calmly, with long pauses, since he was looking at the pancake he was making for House. "And we surely could have dinner here today, it's even a good excuse." He finished dropping syrup on it and handed the plate to House.

"Do we still need excuses after all these things we've done? Isn't our love excuse enough for sharing our time?" House held the plate and cut a small piece of the pancake with the fork, still standing. It tasted amazing. Wilson had given him his back to go on preparing the pancakes, and he ate another piece, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry, James, but I feel like cheating on you with this pancake. It's... Well, I'm not saying I like it, I'm still looking forward to have you with syrup before work." Coming closer to Wilson to put more syrup over his pancakes, he said, nonchalantly. "I'm almost going down on my knees to thank you properly and try to convince you to prepare me breakfast everyday."

Wilson's smile widened and he placed the last pancake in a small pile. "So that's how I can make you beg on your knees. I better stock up macadamia nuts, then." He put a piece of pancake inside his mouth, looking at the syrup. Licking his lips, he looked away from it. The innocent joke seemed to spread like that sticky sweet flavor through his mouth, and, when he found himself looking away, his eyes slipped to House.  _Greg_. To his untidy hair, his clear eyes, the also light blue of his shirt collar. Then Wilson swallowed hard and stared at his own pancake as if there was something interesting to be seen in it, focusing on just eating.

"Macadamia. Of course." House smiled to Wilson and finished his first pancake, immediately picking another one and covering it with the syrup. He noticed the younger shooting glances at him once in a while, and each time he thought James was looking at him, he felt something taking him over, a will to look cool and even charming, as if trying to get his attention. House felt foolish too, despite not showing it.

"Well, there's a lot of chairs around the place, and there's the sofa. I can only assume you like to eat standing or you're waiting for me to say "Come on, let's take a sit'. Which is the case?"

Wilson was really distracted, and he couldn't come to an exact answer.

"I don't know." He shrugged, picking the plate with the pancakes and his own, heading to the dining room. "I am used to eating standing, though. You know I hardly have an actual break, even when I am not with any patient." he placed the plates on the table top. "And whose fault is that?" he raised his eyebrows in a bit of defiance, though his tone was really easy. He sat on a chair.

"Well, it isn't mine." He answered, while cutting another piece of pancake, not looking at Wilson. "I've never said you couldn't have a break to eat, that was your choice. Actually, I've always thought you worried too much about the patients dying while you drank coffee." House shrugged and went on. "What reminds me that we should have lunch together everyday. It wasn't necessary before, but now that the whole hospital knows..."

"I'd actually like it."

Wilson found it funny how House seemed not to remember anything that he put him through, deliberately or not. It sounded like he never actually cared before, and that's why House annoyed him infinitely without checking the clock. Wilson did cared a lot about all his patients, and they took him the rest of the scarce time he's got left. There, House sounded respectful even, and Wilson tried to tell if he was just pretending to be nicer or showing he could actually be like that, given him the chance, taking him out of his boredom. And Wilson had that thing; he'd go for the answer that meant people were actually willing to be good. He'd rather think House would leave him in peace, not just leave him alone when it's all over.

He liked it to get to see him sleepy, so closer and intimate. He enjoyed it that House seemed to love his pancakes so much. He liked to make plans – it was making the days easier to deal. Even though his problems were three times the size they were before, they were also four times more distant. As they were having their breakfast together, it hardly mattered what people were thinking. Wilson just feared, for one moment before coming back to the talk, if it would matter or not whether he was alone, instead. Whether House wasn't showing any softer side, and actually just acting the way he needed in order to get away safe of the situation he was in. For the moment, though, for Wilson, what really mattered was that his own smiles when he was with House lately were quite genuine.

Wilson seemed to be accepting everything so well that all the thoughts that concerned House after that kiss disappeared. It was good to see the younger so relaxed instead of nervous or pissed because of something he said. Mocking on Wilson was funnier too, now that they laughed together about it. The pancakes were soon gone and they weren't late, so they just talked a bit more, without rush or anxiousness to leave. When they finally left the place the day was already warm, a clear and bright morning of spring.

The smile was easy in House's lips, too. Wilson was seeing it, and it was somehow brighter than the sunshine in the street and in the cars when he was driving to the hospital. The radio was on and their little talks revolved around small personal matters and confessions as if it was just due to need.

When they arrived the hospital, walking side by side, they were more silent. At one point, Wilson chuckled.

"I'm sick of them looking at us with this curious glances." he looked down, at House's free hand. "Let's help them with their bets." he held House's hand, wrapping it and interlacing weakly their fingers.

"A small gesture to the humanity, a great step to James Wilson. I'm happy you're coming to terms with your true nature." House had an amused smile on his face, and squeezed Wilson's hand once, faintly.

They were received by the most diverse reactions. A few people just passed by them as if nothing was happening at all, but most of them shot at least a discreet glance at their interlaced hands. Some of them looked away immediately, some stared at them with reprobative eyes, some smirked like it was all a big joke and some few smiles looked sincere and warm. House wasn't very popular among the nurses and the other doctors, and that could explain some of the indignant faces, like Wilson had said on the day before.

Although House was showing indifference and a bit of despite, Wilson was fighting some anxiety while walking slowly in the range of fire of everyone's judgement. When they reached House's office, he pulled his hand back, and it was just a bit sweaty. He put them both in his pockets, standing in front of his said fiance.

"It was a bit harder than I expected. But I found it funny, their faces." Wilson was speaking fast and his eyes had some restrained, latent excitement in being doing something this unusual and daring, even outraging, like he was taken over by an adrenalin he was trying to hide. "I hope I won't have to give them any prove again. Not that it was a problem at all, well, I mean... I just- I should go to work. Clinic duty at ten." he nodded and gave his back.

"Good luck with the runny noses, sweet child of mine." House said just before Wilson left the room, and smiled. He felt too disquiet, though. After some minutes spent reading some files left over his desk, he thought about walking to the cafeteria to get some coffee and then walk around to look for something interesting to do.

Saving lives, finding out what's the disease (or the cause of it), it was all good until he found himself with absolutely nothing to do. Halfway to the cafeteria, he saw a man screaming in pain being taken to the surgery room, and asked one of the nurses about it.

"We don't know what's wrong with him, we thought it was just dehydration." she answered.

"Who's the doctor treating him?"

The nurse seemed to hesitate, but answered. "It's Dr. Kaufman, Dr. House."

He went to Kaufman's office to ask him the patient's file, but he refused, as House expected him to do. He couldn't tell whether Kaufman hated him or was just too proud to accept help. His speech was just like all the others.

"He's my patient. I won't work with you, I know your reputation. You don't respect anything or anybody. And I didn't ask for your help, because I don't need it. I've got everything under control."

It was useless to discuss. The plan was simple. He paged Wilson to let him know he'd be late for lunch, and waited for Kaufman to leave the room.

Having received House's text, Wilson expected the other doctor to be busy somewhere. When he left his clinic reports with the receptionist and was walking to the lab, he crossed the aisle distractedly, hands in the pocket of his coat, to end up finding House sitting on a bench, leaning his hands on his cane and his chin on his hands.

"What are you doing here?" Wilson tried to follow his line of sight, but the corridor was empty; there were just a few people around there. House made a gesture for him to hush and kept on looking to wherever he was staring so concentrated. In the moment Wilson decided to sit down beside him to try to understand, House got up, walking fast. The younger doctor followed him until they were inside a room.

"Isn't this Dr. Kaufman's office?"he closed the door behind him and frowned.

House started to look for the file over the table, among the other papers, but it wasn't there. Since it wasn't a closed case, it would hardly be in the file cabinet. The first drawer in the desk was filled with only personal belongings, and he sighed.

"I really don't know why you're asking, the name's on the door." Sitting on the chair, he opened the other drawers, talking to himself. "He wouldn't take it with him everywhere, would he? Wilson, take a look at these files over this table near you, you're looking for Alan Ferris."

Wilson remained a bit confused in the beginning, trying to understand, but it was clear enough even before House tell him to do it.

"If you have to search in his office, I  _suppose_  it's not your damn patient and not your damn business!" he walked to the desk, hushing angrily, standing in front of House. "Let's get the hell out of here before he comes back!"

"He'll take at least twenty minutes to come back, it's lunch time. I've done this before, don't worry." House got up and searched on the papers Wilson ignored, and the patient's file was among them. "Wow, he obviously care so much about the guy, I'm close to tears. Nobody's my patient in the beginning, you already know it." After taking a look at it, he sighed, leaning on the desk. "I need someone to see him."

Behind him, Wilson sighed painfully, looking at the ceiling.

"Give me these." he approached, reaching out. "We'll ask Cuddy, talk to doctors, but these are  _his_  documents and you'll be in trouble, put it back!" When House tried to keep him from picking them, Wilson sighed, exasperated. "Can you keep a low profile just for now?"

But, from upon House's shoulder, he started reading the file, curious about what was in it, and stood still, just straightening his spine and leaning his hands in House's back. A sudden noise and the door was wide open, inside a moment Wilson only had time to react; the file was the danger, and he instinctively tried to keep House off the trouble, pulling him away from it - and against himself.

"Doctor Kaufman, there's a... OH MY GOD."

House could only hear the female's voice, and he realized it was the same nurse to whom he talked earlier, who was looking to the side and stepping back. It wasn't easy to talk with Wilson pressing him against the wooden top, and he managed to lean on his elbows to be able to do it.

"As you can see, doctor Kaufman isn't here. And, funny thing, we're not here either! Because if we were here, then you wouldn't get a hundred bucks by the end of the day. Now, can you please give us a minute? We're almost done here."

Shocked, she quickly turned away and closed the door back.

"Did she thought we-" Wilson's voice strangled out his throat, jaw dropped and eyes wide open, frozen. He raised his hands when he realized he'd been holding House's waist. "I could've s-stepped aside instea-Jesus Christ." he gave a step aside, burying his face in his hands for a moment before he started to laugh silently.

House straightened his posture and whispered.

"Well, it was  _your_  great idea, and it will be more fun for her to tell the other nurses she caught us shagging in a dark room than stealing files." He tried to organize the things on the desk the best he could. "And we'll have one more rumor that will make it look real. We've always been so discreet, it seems the wedding changed our perspectives." House put the file back where he found it, and took a look around to see if everything was more or less in place. "She can be listening through the door or waiting on the corner, try to look happy and satisfied, my naughty cherry on top."

"Shut up." he hushed back, placing his hands on his waist and speaking quickly. "I'm sure I'll look convincing with my genuine face of ashamed to death." He walked to nearer the door, and he seemed too indignant not to say what was on his mind. "And this wasn't an idea, I panicked and pulled you, do you think I'd be like  _oh, Kaufman will be pissed if we were reading his files, I better pretend I'm fucking Gregory House bent over his table"_  He stopped when his voice nearly got volume. "I'll wait for you in the cafeteria." Wilson stormed out the room, his face nearly pinkish.

House walked out of the office seconds later, feeling a strong will to laugh at all that situation, at Wilson's face blushing furiously, at the very thought that he'd be forever taken as the bottom of the relationship. It was embarrassing, it was crazy - it was amazingly ridiculous and absurd. When he arrived at the cafeteria, there were some weird looks at him - could it be already spread, that fast? Wilson was sitting in the corner, the most hidden he could. House smirked and after paying his food, sit in front of Wilson. "You know what, my belly's hurting since you pulled me on that desk. Good thing it isn't my leg."

Wilson glared at him from under his eyebrows, looking at his food again. A smirk twisted his lips as he gave a clandestine laughter. "God, I just hope Kaufman don't kill us, really." his face steadied again. "If at least it actually were for sex, I'd have to face my recklessness, but a patient's file. You just had to complicate it, you're not under enough sight already", he shook his head.

"Next time it can be for sex, if that would make you feel more comfortable." House said it almost mindlessly, and when Wilson stared at him, he smiled candidly. "You looked so cute with you cheeks all red." He took some pasta to his mouth, and then sucked it, never taking his eyes off of Wilson.

"I'm serious, House." he left his fork on the table. "Do you realize why I am doing this at all? It's surely not so I  _really_  hope to get a promotion from my sugar daddy." Wilson smiled hard and raised his left hand. "I know this is your style, but for now, don't get us fired or ruined in the meanwhile. Otherwise, I am going to  _kill_  you, lovey dovey." he touched the tip of House's nose with the tip of his finger in the middle of the sentence, as if it were just an affectionate, silly gesture of a lover. He took the smile off of his face and held the fork again, starting to eat again.

"Oh, it seems I've touched a sensitive point. You even changed the subject all of a sudden. It's fine, lovebird, I know you want to wait for our honeymoon, I respect it. I promise I'll try not to mention it again." Wilson's threaten meant nothing to him, it was funny. His only fear would be if he suddenly gave up on all of that - and not just because he'd be deported as soon as it happened, but because he was already used to have Wilson near, and even more on the last days. He enjoyed his company too much to just let go.

Wilson turned his attention to his plate, not answering. What was worrying him the most was the fact that being closer to reality made him aware he had been giving up on his Best advantage in the situation - the faculty of changing his mind. Even if he knew he didn't, it made him a bit frightened that House knowing it would make everything go back to the way it was. He loved working with House, he just couldn't bear the everyday he used to put him through. And it was good now. House's craziness was something he'd have to deal, wouldn't he? As Wilson ate his food, he started chuckling, by himself, until he was laughing low. When House gave him that look of misunderstand, Wilson finally looked at him directly.

" _Can you please give us a minute? We are almost done here'"_ He quoted House, and his laughter released from his throat in a deliciously pleased sound.

For House, Wilson's laugh was so... It was nice to hear, it made him laugh too, lower, in a pure instinct of mirroring it. The younger reacted in strange ways to his 'style'; laughing when he should be pissed, helping him when there was no reason to do so. To anyone seeing, that scene was a moment of mindlessly joy between two lovers; but it wasn't merely a scene, it was real. The joy was real, the smile on their faces too. They finished their lunch in that comfortable silence, sometimes broken by some funny reminder or some provocation. House held Wilson's hand over the table, and smiled. "By the way, I need a hundred dollars to pay her, angel."

The way Wilson smiled painted in his features that readable expression of one who knows better.

"Sure, love." He reached for his wallet in his pocket and opened it. "I mean, we wouldn't want her to open her mouth, right?" Placing two fifty dollar bills on the table, he smiled even wider. "Well, I'm finished, and I am a bit busy." He placed both hands in the table and whispered "Sure now I am much more relaxed and happy," he winked "I can endure the pain of being away from you until the end of the shift." After getting up, he held House's shoulder briefly and walked away.


	5. Hopeless wanderer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't hold a glass over the flame, don't let your heart grow cold.  
> I will call you by name, I will share your road."
> 
> Mumford & Sons, "Hopeless wanderer"

Something in the way Wilson said that made him suspicious. The younger was like a bad poker player, never being able to hide his smile when the aces were with him. The afternoon was spent with the two puzzles: Kaufman's patient and Wilson's plan. His thoughts were flowing from one to another as if they were somehow connected. He finally had Cuddy's permission to run the tests he wanted despite Kaufman's angered face, but by the end of the shift he wasn't any closer to solve the case. Checking his emails, though, brought some light to decode Wilson's knowing smirk.

"You bastard." However, he was less annoyed than amused. Wilson had surprised him, and it make him smirk, thinking of how he'd get his 'revenge'. Wilson got so easily embarrassed, to the point of blushing, and House would certainly make the most of it. When they met again, House pretended he wasn't aware of anything; and as Wilson took him home he was silent, concentrated.

Wilson was thinking a bit far away halfway to House's place. The silence between them was filled by radio songs, and, when he caught himself looking at House and smirking, he cleaned his throat.

"Where do you want to pick dinner? Or do you want to stop somewhere?"

"Although I'd love to prove more of your fantastic culinary I know you're tired from work. If you wish, we can have dinner in some restaurant and then go to my place, or we could just ask pizza. It's up to you, dear." House spoke looking at Wilson all the time, with a sweet smile on his lips.

Something on House's tone was weird, but he couldn't find anything exactly wrong about it yet. "I am tired, but if you give me a massage I can feel better enough to cook", he chuckled briefly, waving his head slowly. "Let's head to your place and I'll see what I can do. But I'd choose pizza."

"I don't want my baby to be all tired and sleepy while I play for him, pizza is fine."

It only took some minutes for them to arrive at House's place, and the place still had a sweet smell of pancakes. They discussed about their dinner options, and it led to a mindless talk about which food they liked or not. By the time they decided to ask pizza, they were already too hungry to consider any other option. House noticed Wilson pushing his sleeves to his elbows and he knew it wasn't to keep them clean as much as an old habit. It was charming, he had to admit it. There was something that didn't fit in Wilson's failed marriages, and when it came to his mind, he just said it aloud, as if finally understanding.

"You cheated on your previous wives. That's the only explanation."

Wilson raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised by the direct question. He looked at him with such an indifferent expression that it was clearly made up. "The only explanation for what?" Wilson sat down beside House in the couch. "Don't worry, my prince, I found what was missing in my relationships, and it seems to be an extra sword."

House took a breath and began speaking. "You never dump your girlfriends, what makes me think that you've been dumped by each one of them, including your ex-wives. Well, you're charming, caring, you cook, you're a doctor, you're everything women wants at a first sight, and that's why there had to be a reason for them to want to dump you. Of course, it always come to a time when you're somehow tired of whoever you're with, maybe because you always choose the crazy needy ones, but you can't just dump them. The only thing that could explain them divorcing you is cheating." After a short pause, he spoke slower, in an attempt to make a joke. "Unless, of course, you're secretly a psycho who collects tumors and stores them in the basement, who knows."

"I'm flattered, but no, I'm not a psycho and I didn't cheat in all my relationships." he looked away "I cheated in my last marriage, but she was cheating on me, too. You know, I don't know if they are too used to have my attention and the moment I'm not there anymore, they can't take it. And lacking time is so common for a doctor. But there's another problem." he crossed his arms. "Women say they love the good guys, but they fall for the jerks. So they dumped me because I wasn't there for them, or because I was there too much. Because I got bored or because they did." he shrugged. "I stopped thinking about it, I never came to a conclusion. I... sort of gave in."

 _Does it mean that you won't leave until I tell you to do so?_  The thought came from nowhere, and it distracted House from the distressed man beside him for a moment. He couldn't be sure if he'd get bored of Wilson one day, but the fact that it could as well never happen meant something. "But now we've got each other, honey honey. Thank God those mad girls can't put their claws on your tender flesh anymore."

"And why do I still feel like it's a good idea?" Wilson chuckled, crossing his legs. "I know it's not, but I don't feel the same way. Being  _out of the market_ " he made a sarcastic voice and kept on with a closed smile "and away from this sort of relationship sound to me like... relief." He reached out for House's arm and held it briefly. "I'm so glad we found each other, handsome."

"Is this the part where we smile softly at each other and share a true love kiss?" House raised his eyebrows, as if really considering doing so.

Wilson looked right at House's eyes, lowering to his lips while swallowing hard. "I guess so." As he felt his heart pounding, he pressed his mouth to a line and bit his inner lip. As if it was unconscious, a response to the sudden adrenalin that took him over, he got up, looking away. "You-you know, you should play", he awkwardly pointed at the sheets he had left in the morning. "I'd love to hear." Wilson placed his hands on his own waist, stepping back.

House just smiled, weirdly, and placed his hands on the sofa before getting up. He held the envelope in his hands for a moment, and then took the sheets out of it. Limping weakly, he walked to the piano, sit in the bench and placed the papers in the support. Three pages of carefully drawn notes, and he looked at them as if seeing an old acquaintance after a very long time. Breathing deeply, he started.

In the very moment House started playing, Wilson stepped back. It was even a bit more than a beautiful song coming into life by cautious, talented fingers; it was his own self silently shattering at each harmonic sound echoing inside the night - inside all the time - they were sharing together. What he thought and made him swallow hard so many times and caught his breath as often; what he saw inside House's eyes as a mirror of himself... Wilson sat on the couch and took a deep breath, smiling again and finally realizing how many times he had done so in that days, while before House. And just this way, he was doing again already in the first movement of the song House was playing. Were the notes really sad, or was he vulnerable to them? Wilson felt overwhelmed, but not alone, and it could be just a reflex of the days he spent with House. Elbows on his knees and hands on his mouth, he decided just to listen. To let himself fall inside all the meanings and his blood follow the flow of the notes, until the song by itself could find the right place inside him to make a home.

House's fingers touched the keys gently, even when it demanded some strength and violence. The song lived by itself; he was merely translating it to sounds. Feelings he had never gotten over, impressions of a life long left behind. It wasn't that hard to step on the sostenuto pedal, but at the time he had spent hours and hours playing it over and over his leg was still all right. In the second part he decided to just play it raw, without that echoed atmosphere, and it seemed to suit it better. One, two, three, four, five, six, and start to count again, in that subconscious way, almost automatic. Maybe it was sounding too painful in the way he gave emphasis to different parts, instead of the light and beautiful ones he intended when he composed. But he was not the same. He had lost some parts of him, and the notion that love had to include pain, multiple thorns in his lungs and heart, and that it was supposed to hurt with every breath was just too strongly written in the walls of his brain. Love alone was misery and that apparently fragile sentiment was always looking for some other kind of pain to make it company. He didn't look at Wilson while the song was played but he could feel each change in the air. It was such a sad song for a proposal, and maybe he'd have to change one thing or another that didn't sound good anymore - but it actually sounded like asking something for someone. Asking for understanding, for company, for care perhaps.  _I can try to change, but if you accept me as I am, I promise I'll do everything to be worth it. I may be not enough, but I'll always try to be more than I am for you. I can't say these words, but I hope I'll find a way to send you this message._  Before, it ended with sureness and hope. As House played it this time, it sounded doubtful, even insecure, but strong. It was the same song, just played in a different way - and that changed everything.

When the doorbell rang and the music stopped suddenly, Wilson felt the ground being taken off his feet. "No!" he said it automatically, and anyone could see the stunned look in his countenance; he looked at House, then at the door, and at House again - he was clearly astonished and being interrupted was completely outrageous. "Come on." Getting up, he chuckled when he realized how angry he was at a poor pizza deliverer. "I get it, you stay there." He couldn't have answered the door more quickly. He wasn't even paying attention to anything at all; it was like he was still under hypnosis. He wasn't thinking, he was just feeling his heart squeezed and his head spinning. Music was something emotional drawn out of logic and rules of harmony, and who'd say Gregory House would let himself show the other side of that sweet balance. Wilson handed the money to the man and got the pizza and the change in return, both of which he didn't check before just closing the door. "I know it's pizza and I am so hungry", he placed the box in the center table, "but interrupting that was unforgivable."

Wilson's reaction was funny and endearing, and he laughed quietly for a moment. House shrugged, as if the interruption wasn't important. "If you wish, we can eat first and I play it again later."

"Don't give me this option or I'll make you play it the whole night." Wilson opened the box and the delicious smell filled up his lungs. "Come here, you must be as hungry as I am."

House got up from the piano bench, coming closer to Wilson. "I don't mind playing it again. You seemed to be enjoying it." Laughing to himself, he sit on the sofa. "You looked so dumbstruck when you answered the door."

Wilson chuckled, picking a slice for himself. "I was. It's hard to believe you've composed it." He bit the slice and frowned at what he had said. "No, not that I didn't expect this much skill from you, but it was so... beautiful. I'd say inspired, if it really works this way. It's like... being before something so great." He looked at House with some of that same amaze that took him while watching the older man play. "I wonder what could inspire you to create such thing."

House picked a slice of pizza and just ate for some minutes, silent. When he began to speak, his eyes were far away. "I met a girl once. She was pretty, smart, funny, same old story. We dated, we eventually decided to live together, everything was fine. Then... The madness of hospital rooms and surgeries, and a really painful treatment. I chose it, I could take it. The other option was an amputation. She said she couldn't see me suffering like that, and she signed the permission to the surgery to remove the dead tissue." House spoke fast, with a blank face, not looking at Wilson. "When I woke up, when I saw the scar... Our relationship didn't survive my resentment. I turned her life into hell. Then I came to the U.S. and I've never seen her again." He finished his slice of pizza, as if he had just talked about something unimportant. "That would be her birthday present, I've made it two months before my accident, if I can call it this way."

As House was speaking, Wilson just paid attention, eating slower without even noticing. That story was making him feel quite a big lump in his throat, and something was telling him to change the subject, but the will of asking was even stronger. "Could it be your biggest reason not to want to come back to the U.K.?"

House grinned artificially, but not completely.

"There's no need to worry, sweetie. My heart is all yours." He took a bite in another slice and went on, quite relaxed. "As I've said, there's nothing for me there, not that I think there's a place for me or for anyone. I'm not a runaway, James. And the song you've heard is not the same I've composed." He chuckled quietly. "You're the first one to hear it, in fact.

Wilson smiled truly, looking at a new slice of pizza in his hands. "I guess we all run from something,  _Greg_." he shrugged. "I'm glad you showed me. I hope I get to hear you playing more often, this one and all the ones you might have, yours or not. It is deserved to be shown. I would've said 'yes' to this proposal. He looked at House with the corner of his eye, smirking. "I'm sure she would have loved it", he added,not to let it weight the way it was about to do. Releasing his body on the backrest of the sofa, he sighed calmly "Who wouldn't?"

House smiled, and then said, nonchalantly. "It's just a song. Let's see what's on TV. "

Later, when he played it again, it wasn't just a song. It wasn't Stacy's song anymore; it was a moment that belonged to both of them. Wilson wasn't dumbstruck anymore, but he did have a weird smile on his face. As House unfolded himself before him, he was taken by a strong feeling that he'd run away from if it didn't make him feel so good. He was being involved again by that warm atmosphere of music and that something else he didn't dare to think about. House let his mind wander as he played, as usual, but it always came back to that room, to that gentle face that didn't offer him the kindness of a stranger. It was curious how life felt so real and touchable when they were spending time together. By the end of the song, they had nothing to say. Their eyes met when they said goodbye, and somehow, hours after that, they could still feel those glances upon their faces.

Wilson felt the whole night as an unending drive home. He couldn't help but smiling, and how much of a fool he felt could make him smile even more, within a laughter of despise. He felt blinded, though well-aware that the only thing he needed to do was opening his eyes and see he was diving in something too dangerous without holding back, without proper planning or a bit of good sense. It was really hard to listen to his reason when the melody of a piano kept on echoing inside his head, like the vibration of his own heart. And he'd let the world spin around him, because everything could move, change and distort, but as long as he had a point as fixed as him to look at, to that he was staying still. Going to work wasn't hell anymore - in fact, he wanted it more each morning. He seemed inspired though inside an entropy, strong though unsure, confident though hit from every side. But even in that Saturday he didn't work, from the moment he woke up he knew he would find an excuse if he had the need to.


	6. Sparks fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Just keep on keeping your eyes on me  
> It's just wrong enough to make it feel right."
> 
> Taylor Swift, "Sparks fly"

House took off his helmet and passed his hand through his hair, trying to straighten it. His fingers were fast on the keyboard, and as soon as he finished the message, he sent it, grinning. " _Get dressed and come outside to see the sun shining, sleeping beauty._ "

Wilson heard the message alert when he was sitting by the kitchen's table, after shower, eating cereal. He could only assume it was one person, and smiled before checking it. As soon as he did, it stuck, even when he frowned. " _Are you out at eight? Did someone set your house on fire?_ " He sent another one right after " _No pun intended._ "

House rolled his eyes and started typing another text. " _Yes, you did. Now don't be a bore and come outside at once_."

"He actually meant it." Wilson whispered to himself, chuckling, and got up, walking to the front door.

When he opened it, to the sunny morning, the insistently cold breeze and the clouds often dying the blue sky, he saw Gregory House on his motorcycle, wearing his leather jacket and a killer grin, like it was really planned to look as cool as humanly possible. The metal in the vehicle shone under the spring lights and so did the older man's sunglasses.

"It's your turn to see me with a morning face, T-shirt and sweatpants, then." Wilson walked to him, to the sidewalk. "It happen ties can actually be taken off, who'd say?" He stopped near House, waving his head slowly, as if it was already hard to believe even before he could say what was on his mind.

House took off his sunglasses and smirked. "It's a good thing, you'll get used it. I'll do my best to help you." He winked and looked at Wilson's morning figure. "Well, you look good in your sleeping clothes, but I must say you're not dressed properly to go with me to Connecticut to see some Monster Trucks. It's a pity, I'm sure we'd have so much fun..."

"Wha- How did you-?" Wilson stood there for one second, and House's expression in his face told him he wasn't kidding. Astonished, dozens of questions were trying to find a place inside his mind, Where? How? How much? When? What if...? He lowered his eyes to the extra helmet House had for him, and it vanished. He smirked, took a deep breath and raised one finger. "Give me five." He said before giving his back and walking inside his place again.

Not even Wilson believed that he would actually take just six minutes to be ready, but somehow he was, as ready as he thought he could be for something so unpredictable and unique. Better this way, so he wouldn't be able to let his unavoidably worried self to wonder about what else he might need or what would go wrong. When he went out again, House had turned on the engines, as if in a provocation after the five minutes had passed. Wilson had a white T-shirt on and was putting his own leather jacket on, pulling it by its collar with narrowed eyes, as if to tell House directly and playfully that he could be just as cool as he was. He chuckled, putting his sunglasses on.

"Now we're matching, how cute." House smirked and offered Wilson a helmet. "That's about three hours from here to Hartford, maybe we could stop somewhere to have a brunch or something alike. You can hold my waist the whole track if you want to, sugar lips."

"Is there another way to go, daddy-o?" Wilson lowered his sunglasses and winked, putting on the helmet. "A stop will be a good idea. I'll be hungry soon. And I've never done this before, it might get tiring, I suppose." Despite of his words, he just shrugged, fastening the chinstrap of his helmet. "We'll figure it out in the meanwhile." Holding House's shoulder briefly, Wilson got on the motorcycle, sitting behind him. He approached his mouth to the side of House's head, so he'd hear through the helmet covering his ears. "Let's hit the road, bad boy."

As the familiar streets of Princeton were left behind, surrounded by trees and some people enjoying the Sunday morning walking with dogs or just jogging, the road saluted them as old friends. House avoided the cities, preferring the open road. At some moment, when there were no cars to be seen in the highway, he spoke loudly for Wilson to hear.

"Hang on, it's time for some dauntless fun!" He accelerated gradually, until he could hear the wind whistling furiously on his ears, and laughed in pure delight.

As the speed was growing, the landscapes were blurrier and the wind was getting deafening. Wilson was locking harder his fingers in the grab rail on his sides. "House, slow down!" He said it, his voice starting to show fear. The speed still seemed weirdly careful, but he wasn't feeling safe enough. He wrapped his arms tightly around House's waist and roared. "Slow down! Are you fucking nuts?"

House laughed loudly at Wilson, as if answering 'yes' to his question. The arms holding his waist tightly sent a greater shot of adrenalin to his brain, and he didn't slow down, speeding up a little more instead. "Where's your adventure spirit?" He said, but his words never made it to Wilson's ears, being muffled by the wind.

Wilson was sure that House had said something, but he couldn't hear. Probably it was some sort of provocation, telling him to stop being a pussy or something like that, once the speed was not decreasing. Nevertheless, when he was holding House's body, he felt safer. It was surely mostly psychological, but he was indeed more connected to the motorcycle and to the road, like being that close to House would make him feel everything the way the rider was doing, and not as a separate part. Wilson brought himself around the other man as close as he could, took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. He could feel his heart throbbing in his throat and heard nothing but the wind. The warmth of House's body was a relief to the cold wind wiping every bare skin of his, and it was too much comfort inside something that every logic of his would scream danger. He just trusted; the fate, the road and House. When he had his eyes opened again, the brief moment he only saw darkness was time enough for the adrenalin soak every muscle of his, and he laughed too.

House could feel Wilson's awkwardness slowly fade away when his hands steadied themselves, like an acceptance that it was necessary and maybe it wasn't that bad. They were getting closer and closer with time, in every way, and they were going just as fast as the motorbike on the highway; slowly speeding up. Where they would arrive, it didn't matter that much. Wherever they'd be, House was sure it would be great to be together just like it has been on the past days. They were a great match, and he didn't feel like faking all the time. It was somehow true, all of that, a great trap for everybody where them both were having fun. House didn't feel miserable when he was with Wilson, and that could be the reason he felt like clinging to him all the time. Without him everyday would be a boring Sunday, with nothing on TV and no one to see. It was better together, he had to admit.

When they stopped in a snack bar nearby, two hours later, Wilson was still hearing the buzz in his ears, though it was all quiet. Stepping on the ground and stretching them made his legs hurt, but yet he could be walking on clouds. Damn, it was a beautiful Sunday. The sky wasn't even wide blue, it wasn't even a nice snack bar, but he had his hands on his pocket and a smile on his face.

They were in one of the tables and chatted for a short while. Nothing seemed greatly appetizing there, but he didn't care, and they were both really hungry. Right after Wilson had ordered their beverage, a blonde approached their table. It was a tall woman, with narrowed eyes.

House remembered that face but couldn't know for sure who she was.

"You're Gregory House. You're the damn bastard who almost killed my husband and insinuated I was cheating on him." Her tone expressed a deep annoyance, and he knew there was something else than mere antipathy.

"By the way you're saying it, I'm also the one who saved him. You can thank me leaving us alone."

She smiled sarcastically. "Yes, he's safe and sound thanks to you, healthy enough to move in with his mistress and demanding me to sign the divorce papers."

House raised his eyebrows. "Well, if you weren't cheating on him that's not my problem."

"I wasn't cheating. And you're a jerk." The waitress brought their drinks, and the blonde hesitated just for a moment before throwing Wilson's juice on House's face, and then walked away.

"Holy-...!" Wilson's eyes followed her quickly walking out the place. The weak smell of raspberry juice filled up his lungs, and House seemed not to react but by wiping it from his eyelids in slow movements that could be filled with both anger or despise. Wilson got up when the waitress brought dish towels, dismissing her by thanking politely and avoiding that she could interfere. "And they want to say you don't belong in here." Wilson handed one towel to House and started moping the table with the other. "For me it seems your fame spreads through borders in this country."

House wiped his face and throat until it was dry and sticky from the juice. "It happens, and it's better than getting shot. I still can't remember who she is though, probably it's unimportant. Patients come and go, I'm not supposed to keep track of all their families." Touching his face with his fingertips, he sighed. "I'll go to the bathroom and wash my face, otherwise I'll smell like raspberries all day. When the waitress brings you another girly juice you drink it fast, bitchy blonde Lindsay Lohan can be watching us and waiting for another opportunity."

Wilson nodded. He even thought it was quite a calm reaction for someone to have, being House or not. "Well, I do love raspberry." He shrugged and his smirk could be comprehensive as well as entertained, as if waiting for the right moment to burst in laughter without enraging House. "And this shade of pinkish suits you, it works well with your skin tone." he pressed his lips together, as if restraining his features to only keep on smirking. "But go there, I swear I'll order water only."

"If you love them so much you should have licked it off of my face while you had the chance, Freckles. My lips still taste like it, if you feel like following me and checking..." House said it while getting up, on the edge of looking grumpy.

The bathroom was empty, and he raised an eyebrow to his reflection on the only mirror before starting to clean himself. In the meanwhile, Wilson leaned both his elbows on the table and breathed in deeply, the sweet smell all over his perception, and he could nearly feel it in his tongue. He licked his lips and really wondered how would it taste. "Dammit, James." he whispered really low, voiceless, passing his hands all over his face. He sighed deeply and looked at the bathroom door until House come back, without thinking about anything, but feeling a weird anxiety. He came as soon as the waitress brought their sandwiches.

Sitting on his place again, House glanced at Wilson first, who looked awkward, and then a suspicious look at the sandwiches. The smell was good, and so was the taste. After some time they were on the road again, and they weren't far from Hartford - one hour left, at most. They were delayed by a heavy traffic, due to an accident as they found out later. Wilson had put his hands ghostly on House's waist for a while, as if unsure if he should, but soon let go of him. House felt the disappointment like an annoying itch he couldn't scratch, and it was like that until finally arriving in the city, just to realize he didn't know exactly where he was going to. It was still lunch time and there was absolutely nothing to do. Killing some time in a movie theatre, stopping at a coffee shop; despite being with Wilson, he knew he would soon get bored.

When the time came and they were finally at the grandstand, surrounded by the sound of engines and people screaming, all the memories of that never ending afternoon were gone. They laughed at everything and at themselves, and their eyes reflected the lights beautifully at the same time that showed an evident gratitude for each other's company. In fact, House caught himself looking at Wilson more than at the show, missing a great part of it. Sparks seemed to fly around them with each time their eyes met, shining brightly just like the smiles on their faces.

If Wilson could exactly think in that moment, he'd think that 66-inch diameter tires were running down his worries, and that the cloudy sky they had seen the entire day would envy the blue of House's eyes. Watching Monster Truck, what usually left him just really entertained and excited, had turned into something enduing, possessing, so great he couldn't understand the ends and the beginnings of any feeling of his at all, in a weird sort of catharsis.

That endless awkwardness of the afternoon had been just like... just like a date. He couldn't find a better definition. That need to say something to make the other smile or laugh, to be pleasant, to say the dirty or cute things inside innuendos. And inside some bored, endless minutes side by side, he found himself asking to his own mind the most clueless questions. _Is it really what I am not able to admit? Am I ruining it? Why am I thinking this?_

There, he was tired and sweaty, had just gotten rid of the stick of his toffee apple, his hair was messy and House still had that raspberry stain in the collar of his grey T-shirt. And everything couldn't be greater. His blood flowed faster and faster as his body was again drenched in adrenaline, even when it seemed there wasn't much of that hormone left in a man not that young anymore. He heard the yelling of the crowd, monstrous crashes and even thunders at the distance. He could perceive people in front of him, colorful metallic pieces, lights strobing, but the only thing he was actually seeing was the man by his side - then, maybe, it was only by being deafened that he was unable to hear anything of what was screaming inside of him.

There was only light in that nocturnal world; there was only happiness in that place full of a reckless violence. There was only an eagerness in House's heart, and he'd take the chance. In the state he was in nothing could touch him unless he let it, and he wanted to be touched - he wanted to feel every part of his own body at once, with the same energy flowing through it and not just the pain in his leg or a touch in his face. He didn't want small pieces anymore, but the whole universe; to try again something that happened just because of a dare, of a bet, just under incredulous eyes, when they were still building a bridge between themselves. The bridge was left unfinished when they discovered that firm piece of land connecting them. They weren't islands, just different sides of the same place. It was stupid, foolish, amazing, extraordinary.

That sensation of disquietude made him leave his place when the crowd was also trying to leave, dragging Wilson with his eyes, always looking back to see if the younger was still there. At a moment, he held the sleeve of Wilson's leather jacket, in an attempt to assure that he wouldn't lose him in that mess made of people and stairs. Somehow, their hands slipped into each other's, and they remained that way despite the looks shot at them by people in the way.

The wind was raging outside and House suggested looking for some place to stay the night. Halfway to the hotel they had passed by earlier a heavy rain started to fall, and they were already soaked by the time they found somewhere covered to wait for it to get less intense. Laughing, they rested their backs at the wall until their eyes were attracted to each other's, like magnets.

House approached Wilson without haste, until their foreheads were touching. He had his eyes closed, with a quiet fear of being repelled, breathing deeply over the other's lips, waiting for a reaction; he was suddenly made of hope, and that felt amazingly unusual and strange.

The first time they kissed and that one only had in common the same mouths touching each other. Wilson had his heart pumping against his throat the entire night and for what could have been his whole life. If he had felt that way before, he couldn't tell. It wasn't that improbable, due to the odds and everything. But seeing the dices rolling, he would never bet in a night like theirs. In a fate in which he would be miles away from New Jersey and feeling home. In which he'd be shivering and soaked to the bone, yet warm, yet on fire. When his body was exhausted and he could hardly take any more steps, but he was born again. The cold water dripping from his face and House just before him - he may have taken too much to react, but, again, he wouldn't believe in that moment even when everything was so obviously and perfectly leading to it. It was so ridiculously obvious.

All it took was that he tiptoed just a bit and lifted his chin; their lips would meet, and they would fit. His hands reached out for House's face as he pressed their mouths together a bit stronger, just to make sure it was happening and it was for real, the stubble under his palms, and he brought his body against the other's, wrapping his arms over his shoulder, a hand in his wet hair, without restrain.

House's heart, still light from the past hours spent together, was beating faster. His brain, already drunk on that feeling that soaked his self like the heavy rain, couldn't keep a permanent track of all the sensations he was experiencing. This time it was for real. With both of his hands resting on Wilson's shoulders, he pushed the other against the wall, covering his body with his own and bending his head downwards for Wilson to be more comfortable. He captured the upper lip between his own, and their mouths moulded deliciously on each other. His lips twisted a bit as he refrained a smile, and it was the only thing he held back - that kiss was about that sweet freedom of letting go of fears and daring to explore a new aspect of one another.

Under a random porch in a random empty street somewhere between the city and the country stadium, Wilson felt like sooner or later his body would collapse in that said adrenalin. Better later. With his back against the wall and a man against his chest. Leather under his fingers, stubble scratching in his lips once in a while and an unusual strength holding him close, grabbing him. How much was left of that sensation like his heart could burst? He was drenched to the bone and wasn't even feeling cold anymore – the experience itself was so much of a rush and a fire, it was perfectly in between fear and desire.  _Desire_  – yes, that was the word. Yes, he was loving to be by House's side all those days, and he was loving being inside his arms. It was that much lost he was. It was like everything they had said to tease each other was brought to his memory without the need to mention it in a sentence.

The rain wasn't stopping or calming; it was stronger, more violent, and it seemed it would hit them even there and soak them once again. The very same thing was happening to them – the storm was raging louder and louder. He closed his arms tighter around House, his legs between the others and hips against hips. He tipped House's downer lip slowly, to loosen the bite after and let their mouths separate for mere inches. Wilson was puffing weakly through his parted lips, the hot breath still against the other's mouth.

With every muscle of his body aching in both a longing for warmth and for more of his fake fiancé's touch, House opened his eyes and saw the blurred eyelids closed over the brown eyes he knew so well by then. Their mouths touched lightly between uncountable seconds, in a sort of provocation or even a small pleasure they couldn't deny to themselves. House's hands went down from Wilson's chest until they were holding his waist tightly under the leather jacket, in a sudden movement, while his lips were pressed hardly over the younger's. The kiss became almost desperate, and the strength in each move of Wilson felt great - Wilson, who always had looked so embarrassed every time House made a dirty joke about their relationship; who was trembling when they kissed for the very first time. No,  _that_  was their first kiss, in the rain, far from home, with both of them kissing and being kissed back,  _wanting_  that kiss.

The hands on his sort of dry T-shirt were cold and eventually made Wilson shiver and whisper 'damn' against House's lips. Once his body had that brief spasm, he'd shiver uncountable times again, even if it didn't make his bone structure shake. That amount of will and strength was really taking him over; in a vicious cycle - each time he felt it stronger, he'd correspond even harder. When he had his hands by the older man's hipbones and clinging to his jeans, he accidentally hit his own head weakly on the wall he was being pressed against, what made him open his eyes briefly. House had up to his forearms under his jacket, and Wilson could still not be having spasms, but he was surely starting to twitch due to all those touches. Gasping, Wilson separated their mouths and let one deep breath try to oxygen him to reason again. He didn't want to show any of how he was really sliding off of control, and how he was just in the edge of letting that delicious desire, the flow of hormones and the spin of adrenaline start to turn into actual sexual response. "We..." He couldn't just complete his thoughts, and took another feeble breath, straightening his spine. "The rain." It was really like the hardest cloudburst was really just a burst. The rain was still thick, but, for a gap of time, seemed to be a bit less stormy.

House was breathing hard, deeply, and it took some seconds for him to look around a bit. He smirked weirdly, still panting, his hands still on Wilson's torso. "Was it so boring that you interrupted it to talk about the weather?"

Wilson had the urge to deny it a thousand times before being able to find something more suitable to answer the joke. House's smile in the dark and his puffing breath was one of the things he never realized how much they were able to destabilize him until he was already crumbling down entirely. "Or was it your whole plan when you said you wanted to wait for the rain to calm, doing it all in here? Dirty boy, out in public like this."

House laughed, pushing Wilson back against the wall gently and freeing some space in between them, as if to see him better. "Am I dirty or are you just too much of an old nun? It's fine, angel of mine, we can find somewhere more private to pray, if you wish so." The rain, despite not looking near to end falling, was calm enough for them to get on the motorcycle and make it to the hotel. A cold wind passed in that space between them, and the water felt colder on his skin. He pulled Wilson back to him, still smirking suggestively.

"Surely you can kneel." Wilson narrowed his eyes. "To pray, of course." he shrugged, smirking and looking at House's lips.

"I can try, but you know I'm not used to pray. Maybe you should show me how to do it first." The last phrase was said in a whisper, near Wilson's ear, just before House pushed down the collar of the jacket and bent his head a little, to press his lips on the wet skin of his neck.

Catching his breath, Wilson half-closed his eyes and grabbed House's hips. "Not a religious man myself." He moved his shoulders, a bit uncomfortable inside his own jacket, as if those thick and heavy clothes of theirs were annoying him, and he chuckled briefly at the meaning of his thought. The smile faded when House's tongue touched the sensitive skin of his neck, and he let out a loud breath, swallowing hard afterwards. "By now we'd be doomed to burn, and I wouldn't be loving it." He moved his hands up to House's waist, under his T-shirt, sliding in his wet skin.

"Oh, so you are "loving it",  _hottie_? And we haven't even started." House almost purred the words by Wilson's ear, and he was half playing that game they had been playing for the last week and half saying it for real. They were both grown men, their decisions belonged only to themselves, they were enjoying each other's company and that increased more and more, almost exponentially. Still there was an uncertainty that always follows first times, and by then he was sure it would happen sooner or later. They hadn't discussed anything for real before, and trusting instincts and poor previously acquired knowledge felt somehow risky. He kissed all the way to Wilson's mouth, and pressed his lips briefly to the other's. Separating their lips, observing as the brown eyes appeared from under the eyelids, he said, with a hoarse voice. "I don't think the rain is gonna stop soon, let's find somewhere to take off this wet clothes before we catch a pneumonia."

Wilson would blame the cold if House made any comment, but he shivered before the invitation. He felt like making another joke, but those blue eyes stopped him, and it wasn't even the thoughts they could express, but what they made him think of. He said 'let's go', stepping aside and facing the rain before he could decide otherwise. The cold water washed him, freezing, and it was so good to come back to feel House's body when he was on the motorcycle. Behind him, hugging him tight. There, when no one was watching his reactions, he laughed quietly to himself. It was so natural it really seemed like it had always happened, that they really had been a couple for a long time. Yet, the careful man he had always been got a hold of his spinning mind once in a while, making him realize that the excitement was also made of fear, and he needed to have one foot on the ground, at least inside his conscience. The water and the wind hitting him like an ice storm, the dark night without a hint of stars to be followed, though, and he couldn't hug House tighter, and he couldn't grin any wider. Any speed would look dangerous, and no light would come to properly illuminate the road; it all made him feel like he only had that night. And not a single anguish came with it - just a recklessness that didn't suit him, but that he was liking to wear. Somewhere along the way, when they were on the motorcycle and he had his arms around House's torso, he let his hands slide to the other's jeans, slowly for him to predict the movements and not to startle him enough to make him suddenly lose the attention. He slipped the indicator of each hand under House's waistband, by his hipbones, and let them there, not moving for a while.

In a situation where he had to keep both eyes on the road, take care not to increase velocity too much and cause an accident; where the water fell like stones over him as the wind gave them strength and weight; that was certainly not the most appropriated ever for being touched that way, if there was something like that. House controlled himself not to close his eyes, and let out the air slowly as his lower abdomen felt like a small bonfire. He was aware of the blood flowing faster through his veins and arteries, hearing them as they pumped just as harder by his ears. He was aware of the cold just as well of that careful warmness spreading through his body, and it felt like the cold wind couldn't take that away from him. Some lights stronger than the ones illuminating the road (that were quite weak, barely letting him see the way ahead of them) appeared in the distance, blurred because of the rain, and they seemed to be close. Each time Wilson's fingers moved slightly, because of some movement of the motorcycle, House felt another wave of that melting down sensation, and it was all due to the anxiousness of finally getting rid of all the expectations and experiencing a greater version of that slow cold fire burning all thoughts that weren't related to Wilson and his touch.

They were entering the city, and Wilson couldn't hold a chuckle when he noticed that House had slowed the motorbike down, though keeping a steady rhythm. A part of him was getting off on it. He liked the idea of having House defenseless, that much on his hands. On the other hand, he also couldn't help starting to feel a bit concerned - Wilson was always ready to care about everything. He sighed the wet air when he realized so, and fought that feeling by taking his hands off House's hips and wandering the left one to the other's torso, under the leather jacket and T-shirt. Wilson feared being repelled, but he didn't feel not one muscle of the other's retracting, reacting in the opposite direction of his hands. When his fingertips reached House's chest and he felt the heartbeats racing, his chest going up and down fast, every grin of his turned into a smile, his frown disappeared and he closed his eyes for a second.

Damn, what on Earth was he doing - not only there, but with his whole life? When did he become that daring and rash? The answer, even when he couldn't know it precisely, was only a brighter smile in that dark night. There was no right or wrong move. He just wanted it. He wanted it bad, whatever 'it' could be.

He pulled his hand back and just held House's waist as he should, as the streets were starting to show some traffic and there could be a place for them to stop nearby. As Wilson's hands just rested on his waist, House felt an anguishing disappointment sting his body for a short while, despite still being soaked in all the hormones sent into his bloodstream as a consequence of the thoughts running with every touch.

When they finally made it to the hotel and were about to do the check-in, he started laughing - how they had jumped from a marriage proposal to friendship, and from a first date to getting a hotel room. He shook the keys in his hands theatrically to Wilson, grinning, while heading to the elevator.

"Let's finally get rid of these wet clothes, shall we?"


	7. Hysteria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I want you now  
> I want you now  
> I feel my heart implode"
> 
> Muse, "Hysteria"

It was a nice place, the one they stopped by - but Wilson hardly could tell. His sight was blurred as much as the sight ahead in the stormy road, and he was checking in a room with House to spend the night. The only time he looked right at the receptionist was when she gave him a curious look that he couldn't quite interpret; by that and the following laughter of House, he just assumed he had just chosen them a couple room. He laughed to himself too, looking around mindlessly until House was by his side, shaking the keys like it was one of their jokes and provocations.

"Yes, let's do it." Inside the elevator, he pressed the button of their floor and stopped by House's side, looking at the door closing on them. "I'm freezing, I need to take them off and warm me up." He said, as if casually.

House was resting his back on the elevator's wall, and used the same casual tone to answer. "Oh, I'm sure we'll find a way to keep you warm, lover boy." He stared at Wilson with a half-grin, and he looked comfortable with all the situation, as if it was just a predictable consequence, something he could even have planned. The air there was cold, but his skin felt warmer after being in the cold rain for so long. He reached for Wilson's forehead, to straight his messy hair a bit, but ended up messing it more. He drew back his hand as they got closer to their floor, looking at the image of them reflected in the mirror aside him.

When the door was open and he walked to outside that cubicle, Wilson smirked nervously for a moment, lowering his head. The first room was theirs - he looked at the lengthy corridor ahead and thanked to himself not to have the need to walk all along it.

House opened the door for them to enter. Quite a cozy room, in shades of brown and caramel, that Wilson only saw in the corner of his eyes. As soon as House was closing the door and locking it, Wilson turned the man to face him, to corral him between his arms, leaning them on the wood. He wanted to capture as much as he could of a surprised face, when House was still holding his cane and the keys.

"Finally,  _my fiancé_." He grinned, forcing the words to as much as a mocking provocation he could. It was brave for him to look right inside House's irises, but he did it anyway. "All by ourselves and inside four walls."

House's face showed his surprise for some seconds, but it soon was replaced by his amused face, with the casual touch of his need expanding in a non-constant rate. With raised eyebrows and a delighted look at the younger man, he let his smile enlarge itself just enough to show he was enjoying it, his eyes having most of the signs dispersed over its blue surface. "I thought you were eager to rip my clothes off, but if you want some more snogging with wet cold clothes... I wouldn't say 'no'." He stared at Wilson's lips with his eyes painted with a calm desire, of one who knows what he craves for is just about to happen sooner rather than later.

"Why the hell would I." The sentence didn't have a question mark in its end, like it was something indignant to hear. He stopped leaning on his hands and they unbuttoned the one button of House's leather jacket. Feeling the look that was right at his own lips, Wilson's breath immediately started to deepen. Holding the zipper between the other's clavicles, Wilson took House's mouth with his, and the ready movement of his hand downwards House's torso opened the jacket with a suggestive sound. One last smirk twitched his mouth pressed in a kiss, and his hands traveled to both House's shoulders, under the piece of clothing, going down to his arms in order to take it off of his body.

House heard the jacket and his cane falling on the floor, with his eyes closed and his tongue touching the other's lips. His T-shirt felt like a second skin, cold and uncomfortable, and he was actually eager to take it off, but chose to free Wilson from his jacket, too. When all the leather was left on the floor, he let his hands wander downwards Wilson's chest, stopping on his hardened nipples (probably due to the cold, but House dared to think arousal would have something to do with it too). He wanted to touch every sensitive point, and the very thought of that sent a shiver down his spine, and he clang to Wilson's T-shirt for a moment while deepening the kiss.

The dim lights through half-open eyelids occasionally, the rain outside raging, the warm sound of their breaths deepening and even the brief oscillation of the door; those were elements Wilson could notice but not quite realize, as if the surroundings of his perception, when everything was his trembling bones and sensitive skin on House's hands and lips. When the other's precise hands held his white T-shirt, he separated their kiss, puffing through his parted mouth, and lifted his arms for House to take it off of him. The wet fabric clutched to his body as much as it could, to his shoulders and his chin, and he had to pull the collar to release himself and take it off his head. He chuckled, lowering his arms and leaving the T-shirt drop to the floor.

House showed that amused smile again, and one could think he was just enjoying the moment, just for fun, without any serious interests. He observed Wilson's bare chest for the first time, tracing the lines between the muscles with his fingertips, like a sculptor delicately moulding the clay. When his eyes met the brown ones staring at him, he pressed his lips to the other's for a brief moment, before taking off his own shirt and smiling. "Now we're even."

For a second, he mirrored House's smile, swallowing hard and lowering his eyes to the lines of House's body, outlined by shadows. Wilson held the other's waist, bringing him closer again, and even the cold skin of House's back was warmer than his fingers. As they readily slid to the shoulder blades, pressing the skin as they roamed, he bent slightly his head, touching his lips in House's neck. The strength bringing the other closer was eager, vigorous, but the kiss was slowly and carefully going down from under House's ear to his clavicle.

That variation in strength and velocity was amazing; House could open his eyes with a mad sparkle of delight in them and analyse that strategy (if it was on purpose) as something genius if he was only watching and not feeling all those touches in his own body. The fierce grasp in his muscles and the soft open-mouthed kisses planted on his neck - the contrast was interesting enough for him to really pay attention in that and feel all that was to feel. A low sound escaped from his lips, something like a pleased hum, and his fingers traced Wilson's spine until his hand was on the disordered hair.

With the hand inside his hair and the echo of that humming still vibrating inside him, Wilson felt his breath faltering. He opened his darkened eyes to the blurred sight of the skin before them, feeling another level of arousal spreading inchmeal inside of him, steady like lava, making him clench his jaw before breathing deeply. He had his nose touching the side of House's face and the loud respiration between teeth was blowing warm beside the older's ear. Wilson's hands went downwards again, along the other's back, until reaching his jeans. Covering the pockets, Wilson closed the fingers of both his hands, grabbing firmly still over that hard, annoying fabric.

His first reaction was to catch his breath; and it could have been simultaneous to moving his hips automatically in Wilson's direction - House couldn't know for sure. That growing need for more seemed to consume him entirely, but when he thought about it, his mind was blank. There was an awkwardness in the corner of his brain just waiting for the 'w _hat now'_  moment, but he trusted himself and he trusted Wilson. Things couldn't go wrong because there was no wrong. He exhaled slowly by the younger's ear, closing the eyes he opened with could be described as shock - it wasn't something he used to do every day, and he was startled in the most wonderful way possible. Every sensation was painted with that self-consciousness of being so obviously desired, and it felt just as good as concerning. He kissed the skin under Wilson's ear lobe before catching it between his lips; his hand grabbing the moistened hair soft enough not to hurt.

Wilson caressed House's face with the tip of his nose, closing his eyes unavoidably at each touch and each reaction manifestly towards every movement of his. They were in a different kind of coordination - that one that is acquired when you are comfortable enough to let yourself go. Even when their movements collided or desynchronized, there was a mutual complicity surrounding them. Since the beginning, they seemed perfectly willing to be part of a secret that only belonged to them. And they found out they were good at it. They were each other's partner and each other's accomplice, what would cause them to surrender to each step of a calculated recklessness with no need and no will of holding back.

Wilson leaned one hand on the door again, while the other followed the seams of the waistband and clang to the button of House's jeans, loosing it. Holding the zipper, he took a breath. "Do you wanna-" his voice was scratched, and he cleaned his throat. "Do you want to sit down?" he looked aside and gestured with his head to the bed, very slightly.

He hesitated before answering, and it had nothing to do with doubt. By then it should be clear he was going all the way with Wilson, not caring too much about where it would take them. They'd be married in some weeks, and they were about to become a couple in every way. It was distressing to show his scar even under low light, and it was embarrassing to watch the reactions. It hardly mattered in that room, though. With his back leaning on the door and his jeans unbuttoned, with the eyes staring at him just as dark as a sky with the new moon, House experienced that sensation that nothing was significant enough to stop them. Nodding once, he answered in a low voice. "It's a good idea." As his clothes were taken off and thrown on the floor, his sarcasm seemed to follow them. There was no place for bitterness in the big mattress; there was only space for both their universes colliding. He took Wilson's hand and headed to the bed, limping just slightly, keeping his eyes on the brown-haired man who had become his friend, and was about to become his lover.

When following House, many of the thoughts Wilson's mind was trying to avoid found a place to show themselves, a lot of them as disguised concerns. He couldn't come to terms that he could just be worried, because that would be a step to panic and destroy all that amazing empathy that was leading them so well. Wilson was just going with what pleased him, and it seemed that doing so was towards the very same things that pleased House. Their will matched better than they could expect. When House sat down on the bed, Wilson bent in front of him and reached the other's lips with his, holding his face. That was truly the most sincere responses he had ever received. House was like that. Not that he was exactly as he showed to everyone - Wilson had seen a good example of it alongside all those great days - but, unlike most of his previous relationships, when the hands were touching his body, they weren't covering any lie, deceit or any other meaning aside from what was raging inside their veins, bristling their skins and exciting their brains. House wouldn't let him do anything he didn't exactly wanted to and wouldn't take his clothes off with an ulterior motive that wasn't desire only, for him, and that was how naked they were in front of each other, even with clothes on. And when House showed that desire, it was over and over awaking instincts that Wilson had learned to hide. When the younger opened the zipper of House's pants, it was a lot like he was unwrapping himself, set free from cage after cage, taking off the iron balls locked in his ankles and wrists. Inside their lie, he was truly being himself. His left hand slid to House's right thigh, steadily, but without pressure. "If it hurts, you just tell me." His voice never meant to be condescending, and it didn't sound like this. His fingers went up to House's hips again, holding the fabric to get to take it off. "Or you just pinch my back, don't know, find yourself a way." He shrugged, smirking, keeping on looking at the other's face.

"If it hurts I'm sure you'll find a way to make it up." House said it with a matter-of-fact tone, but smiled suggestively afterwards, while taking off his shoes. He leaned his hands on the mattress and moved his hips up, to make it easier for Wilson to slide his pants off of him. He observed with an enigmatic catlike expression, watching as the other undressed him. It was good to be undressed that way by Wilson, carefully and still confidently. Free from the annoyingly wet pants, knowing his boxers were exposing more than hiding, he pulled the younger man for another kiss, and then stared into the brown eyes. His hands unbuttoned the other's jeans blindly, and blindly he unzipped it. He looked down and played mindlessly for a while with the waistband, a smirk appearing in the corner of his mouth. With a last glance at Wilson's eyes, he pushed down not only the pants but the underwear too, without any warning.

Wilson couldn't hold back his chuckle, as if of surprise and a bit of embarrassment - it was really foolish to feel embarrassed, but for a moment he did. What didn't stop him from finishing taking it all off, as well as his socks went off with his sneakers, standing in front of Gregory House completely naked and aroused. Well, the last one, not completely, though - that situation made him shiver, and his humid, cold body was already missing his heat. With that same half-smile, he held both House's shoulders, leaning on them and kissing him again, hesitating in which knee he would lean on the bed before deciding for the right. He could say he didn't mind at all House's scar, but it was in his mind just as a reminder, with a pin, a brief note for him to take a bit of care - not that he haven't been doing so all the way, despite everything. But if he looked down, his eyes would surely deviate to something else; it was like House knew it all along and had chosen a white underwear just to look  _that way_  when nearly transparent. Pushing the other man to lay on the bed, Wilson climbed upon his body and kissed him again. Still with half of their legs out of the the mattress, but impatient enough not to wait for a comfy position without at least a bit more touching, he laid over House, letting his mouth slip to kiss his throat and pressing their hips together. That last damn wet fabric, he wanted to get rid of all that cold damn clothing all at once, but he did it that way anyway, partially because he knew - or expected - that it was that much teasingly annoying for the man under him, too, merely sliding his fingers to the elastic waistband band of that white - transparent, again - underwear, just insinuating.

When Wilson came towards his body, House saw something in those eyes that he couldn't quite decode - they were lustful in the most natural way possible, and breathtaking like a beautiful realistic painting, capturing all the emotions in the dilated pupils. The singularity of that skin to skin contact, the frustration of still be wearing his boxers, the lips on his neck as if it happened a thousand times before - he just closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath, feeling his head light with each movement and each change of pressure. His lips were parted and he was anxious for more, but the anxiousness by itself was already pleasurable, something to be enjoyed as well. His fingers ran downwards Wilson's back, and he held the tender flesh just as the younger has done to him some minutes before, only less desperate and sudden. His eyes opened and he saw the gleam of a far away lightning illuminating the room for some seconds, before a low thunder was heard in the distance. He was aware of the rain outside, he was aware of his body, and he was becoming more and more aware of Wilson's body as his perception cleared with each touch.

That grasp made Wilson catch his breath really hard, humming still with his mouth pressed in House's skin. He was starting to wonder things, and he had sparkles of sweet anxiety intercalated with those of daring fear at each touch in bare skin that was making him dizzy. He lifted himself, leaning both hands on the mattress, and his body language would tell House to go a bit upward on the bed; but, when he did, Wilson remained where he was, a bit downward, so he would be able to take the underwear off of House's body, throwing it somewhere in the room with a personal relief. When he came back, he approached his face to House's chest. When his lips and tongue touched the right nipple, he held House's waist to cling firmly and bring himself closer. House's hips were aligned to his belly and he leaned his forehead on his sternum, swallowing hard and panting, hearing and feeling House's fast heartbeats, so close it was nearly surreal. He was sure that if he closed his eyes he could hear his own pulse in the same incoherent rhythm, but he didn't check. There was already yet to see, such as what would be House's reaction to when he put his hand between both their bodies to hold the other doctor's hard-on, throbbing in that same erratic, violent pulse.

House breathed deeply when their bodies, fully naked then, made contact; both because of immediate physical response and due to the expectation and arousal built with all those kisses and touches. He closed his eyes again when the lips touched his nipples, first the right and then the left; and he could feel his blood running faster through his veins, as if all the oxygen in the room wasn't enough to keep his body working properly for much time. The warm breath against his skin, the sudden sensation of Wilson's hand touching his hardened member, his eyes opening as he caught his breath and felt his heart going down to his groin - his notion of reality was getting smaller, restricted to the two bodies over the mattress in the most pagan form of love, discovering each other's bodies in a sweet liberty of actions that was already exciting by itself. Low moans escaped his mouth as the younger's fingers explored every inch of his erection with a controlled eagerness, and when Wilson stared at him with that same look of desire and need, he pulled him for a kiss; just disconnected touches between their lips, as he breathed hard with each touch over sensitive skin.

Their bodies, naked, together, fitting so deliciously, the friction then was hip against hip, the breath was mouth before mouth. Wilson felt like laughing in complete joy and disbelief, but, to refrain that will, he just kissed repeatedly House's skin, with a wistful craving, as if he wouldn't never get enough. Grabbing his back, he twitched his finger on the muscles, though the moisture was making all the attrition uneasy. Wilson pushed his hip harder against the other's, rolling his eyes as he heard the low moans in response. It was like he could see the edge from where he was, though there was a lot to go through; but, at this point, the gravity starts to pull in an exponential rate, and he couldn't know what it would take to stop the fall from then on.

"Greg..." He had his nose beside House's, half opened eyelids and a hoarse, lustful voice. "What do you say..." he skimmed his lips in House's cheek, scratching on his stubble, panting, swallowing hard "...we take a hot shower together? Right now?"

Wilson's voice reverberated inside his self, and he just hummed what could be interpreted as an agreement before taking a deep breath and smirking. "I like the way you think, Jimmy, and I like what this says about you." He turned his head to meet Wilson's lips in a kiss, the last one before getting up. The images those words brought to his mind were blurred, but just to think about it made him breathe deeper. As they left the bed, walking to the bathroom, he felt almost dizzy; his eyes were a deep dark well, with a tiny line of light blue around it. Staying away felt as wrong as possible in that situation, after being so close to each other, and he couldn't see a time when he'd get enough of those lips - it was a good thing that the path to the bathroom was clear of furniture, or they'd probably have dropped everything in the way. In the light of the bathroom they could really see each other, but there wasn't a single problem in that - they were the same in dark and light, and they wanted each other just as eagerly in both situations. The lighting wasn't so aggressively white as he expected it to be, and it really felt like part of the room. House only noticed that because he was waiting for a shockingly difference, and the lack of that surprised him only to make him acknowledge the surroundings for a few seconds. What really mattered to him was right before him, in the form of a brown-haired male with sparks flying inside his eyes.

Wilson pulled the translucent glass door of the shower box and opened it, chuckling quietly as he noticed he was measuring the size of the place surrounded by glass walls, with a tiny bathroom window by the height of their heads. They would fit just well. He turned the faucet and the water started to fall on the light blue tiles, filling the room with the already familiar rain-like sound. As he waited the water to warm, he looked at House, and that electroshock that seemed to hit him under the sight of those darkened eyes would make him wonder if it was a good idea to be in slippery floor when one look was able to melt his legs. The following touch, only their skins skimming nearly accidentally when they entered, made him grin. Really like electricity - it was tens of times stronger, as if the water was to blame for conducting the subduing sensations to every inch of his body. House closed the door and Wilson placed himself under the warm pouring, what embraced his oversensitive, cold skin, making him close his eyes slowly. He opened them after running his hands through his eyes and hair, and, then, House was really close.

He touched Wilson's chin and pressed their lips together, almost languidly, with some water falling over his bent head, and running down his body in little drops. Separating their lips, he let his right hand slid from the point where Wilson's clavicles met to his crotch, without haste, as if they were beginning again, in a whole different dimension away from the rainy street, away from the front door, away from the bed. Each one of those moments were like movements in a concerto, with different tempi and even in different scales, but the same theme could be perceived in each one of them; their melodies contrasting with one another beautifully, just to become an unison in the end. From the very beginning they were learning to synchronize themselves and make maybe not a perfect tune, but at least something that could express something more than the ego of a composer with his head full of rules of harmony and counterpoint. Something that would surely be dissonant at times, and hard to understand and accept for most of the people, but magnificent in its strangeness. Now their music sounded real, played by their fingers and lips with sentiment and passion on each other's bodies, without any unnecessary shame or prudery. House wanted to touch everything, taste everything, feel everything - but this time it was more than his usual eagerness for knowing, it was similar to the pursuit of happiness itself, desperate and even irrational, and still fascinating in its young and brave recklessness.

The air was beginning to fog, though that steam still had cold room to escape inside that bathroom. Once again Wilson had his back against the wall and lips on his neck. This time, however, their whole world was surrounded by glass and light blue tiles, and the contents of imagination and the whole range of sensations and feelings were born inside their brains, slaving all the elements they controlled, all that organism that was subdued. It was made of precise, efficient elements they could name easily; the trapezium muscle under where House was kissing then. Latissimus dorsi being pressed under Wilson's carpals, metacarpals and phalanges. So strong muscles and steady bones that would support it all, but that those same feelings sailing in hormones would make them believe they were about to break, shake or burst. But it was quite a mess happening inside them, though. The brain really needed to create a way for their organisms to want to go through that violence - and, damn, it was convincing. Wilson was breathing through his open mouth, as the warm water poured on House's nape and splashing in his face. The older was kissing slowly enough to make him want to rush, and his body was responding fast enough for him to want to brake. He moved towards House as if he wished that their bones collided. His sight blurred when he was hold tighter and their hips rubbed once again, and he couldn't blame the hot water anymore.

House wanted to see, but his eyes insisted to close; he wanted to appreciate each detail, but it was hard to control himself when he was so obviously enjoying that too much to care about details. Wilson's skin was reddish from the hot water, hot enough to burn their last fences down, and House's lips became more urgent; his hands more daring; his breath more erratic. Their hips moved together most of the time, in a clumsy and mostly unsuccessful attempt to get more of that delicious friction that was hard to coordinate while standing over wet floor, but House wasn't desperate to end it yet. Each delay in their relief would be more of the feeling of being just about to fly, a feeling that was a combination of the physical sensations and the conscience of what they were doing to each other. His world was made only of hardened muscles, contracted willingly or not, wild heartbeats barely noticeable under the constant dripping of hot water, shared air, shared bodies, shared sounds. They were mostly just rubbing themselves against each other, but the question was in the air anyway. House could see each time Wilson opened his darkened eyes; could read in each touch of the other. He smirked at Wilson as if calling him 'naughty' mentally, and if he hesitated for a minute, it wouldn't mean he wasn't willing to try everything that was to try. That was his way, all in from the beginning, fully present, body and soul.

Wilson felt the urge to ask. He has always been the type of guy that needed to know.  _What are you thinking_ ,  _what are you feeling_ , _what now_  - all those unsolved questions were starting to make him anxious in a way that was growing apart from excitement. He kissed House deeply, desperately, like it could end any time, like something that amazing could be infected by his hesitations. He really believed that he wouldn't ever come to understand anything inside House's mind, though the other could read him completely and thoroughly. And the man in his arms didn't seem to avoid anything that he could interpret - more than that, the smirk he gave, that look in his eyes... It was really like he was loving to watch like a movie the dirtiest images and that nasty pornography that were flashing in Wilson's mind. It was already wonderful just the way it was - his conscious will would easily convince him that he'd laugh and close his eyes, he would kiss and hug House for an eternity, they could reach a whole new paradise inside that and only that. But that smirk… the look in House's eyes would just haunt him. It may have merely mirrored what was on Wilson's thoughts, maybe he chose to read it – but he needed to ask. The edge, again - the place that he'd have to decide something. And he wanted  _more_. He wanted it so much that he'd probably accept anything that would supply that need – it was frightening and freeing to realize he was willing to do  _really_  too much inside four walls with Gregory House, and he had no idea when it became so complete and unrestrained. He wouldn't be the first to use words, though. Instead, his hand held House's elbow and slid down to his hand, interlacing their fingers. He stepped aside, to his left, and then he would be by House's side - still pressed against his body. There, he thought the question was pretty clear, and the other didn't need to do a thing to agree; all it would take was that he didn't deny it. Wilson kept his other hand in House's groin, impudently holding, touching and massaging, as if trying to make a 'no' even harder to be said, because that was scaring him. So Wilson'd make House sure that he would stop being touched if he turned to face him again, and that no word would come out of his mouth with less than a moan.

House could feel the hesitation in Wilson's moves - in the way he slowed down slightly and the firm grip in his hand. His voice didn't obey his self anymore, but the movements of Wilson's hand in his erection, just strong enough to keep him near the edge. The sounds coming from his mouth weren't continuous or predictable, sometimes coming after what could be long minutes or even hours in that distorted time perception that didn't follow any common sense. His mind was full of images that sent cold shivers down his spine, burning his senses with that mad desire that came from nowhere and from everywhere.

He rested his free hand in the wall in front of him, bending his head down and moaning low and loud at the same time, and he knew it would hurt, he knew it would feel uncomfortable and weird - and if he was lucky enough in that first time, it would feel extraordinary. He knew what to expect, but he cleared his mind of useless expectations. He had already made up his mind. House chuckled weakly as the scene in the hospital on the other day, with Wilson behind him and holding his hips, came into his mind. A cold anxiousness tried to take over him, but he sent it away nodding affirmatively, with closed eyes and parted mouth, panting. His hoarse voice reverberated inside the cubicle, coming from a smile, short of breath. "What are you waiting for, James? We already know what we want..." The phrase was followed by a loud moan, as the hand touching him became a little more eager and motivated, and House whispered an unnecessary "please", that came out of his mouth without him realizing it.

One rampant spasm took over Wilson's body when he heard the last word, something between a painful shiver and a convulsive twitching. Desire invaded him so irreparably that for a second he was afraid - not afraid that he wouldn't be able to do what he was allowed to, but that he wouldn't be able to move, see or speak at all. It was like each of those words, in hoarse voice and British accent, within uncontrollable puffing, gutural and moaned, reached the exact frequency needed to destroy Wilson's entire structure, the same way sound waves can shatter glass. Closing his eyes and breathing out faintly, Wilson let go of the other's hand even though he felt like never letting go of any inch of skin he had inside his fingers. His hand slid to between his shoulder blades and pushed him gently bent, as he stepped aside again and placed himself behind House.

The water along his spine making his skin shine under the light, and his eyelids half-closed against his will, as if it was just too much and his brain couldn't process it without crashing. Blindly he touched House's nape with his lips. Cervical vertebra - a kiss between C-4 and C-5. The fingers of the hand that pushed him found that same line and followed it. Down to the thoracic; slowly, from one to twelve, sliding in the hot water. He never stopped kissing House's neck and shoulders. Then lumbar, carefully, one, two, three, four, five. Each time he would start another count, realizing it or not, Wilson's movements were more intense. When on the sacrum, he wrapped the other arm on House's waist, to tighten the embrace, leaning his forehead on House's shoulder blade and panting severely, nearly hearing his own blood throbbing on his ears. And when those fingers were past the coccyx, he couldn't help but making his teeth lock a careful bite in the skin before his mouth. Careful was a word to consider; he never forced a single muscle, not when he bit the other's shoulder, not beneath his fingers. Everything was oversensitive, relieved tension and the right pressure is the crucial difference between pain and pleasure - even when they seemed doomed to be the same thing at one point. Wilson was drowning in the shallow water, suffocating in the thin fog, and he couldn't remember wanting anything in his entire life more than that and more than that, more than House. He needed him to feel the same.

As his other hand was free from Wilson's, he opened his eyes and faced the blue tiles, breathing deeply. At the first touch of lips at his spine, he closed his eyes and trembled, unable to contain all the excitement, anxiety and a whole fan of unnamed emotions and sensations taking over him. Each time their hips touched, he felt the fire in his loins becoming greater, burning him coldly, a fire without warmth that made his entire skin tingle with the hot steam surrounding them. He knew that the slow sliding of fingers down his back were supposed to give him time to process all that information and not being startled with a sudden touch, but he found himself breathing faster and wanting that anticipation to end. When Wilson's arm enfolded his waist, fiercely and full of need and desire, House let out a loud breath that was almost painful. By the time the fingers had reached down, he moved his right hand to the windowsill, to help him keep steady and not fall on his bad leg. He didn't want that to stop, he wasn't regretting his decision. The small bite on the skin of his shoulder was simultaneous to the pressure applied by that first finger, and if he thought that it was part of some Wilson's scheme, the thought was just thrown away to give room to the brand new sensation invading him. The first instinct, almost a reflex arc, was to contract his muscles, and he had to breathe hard and deeply to relax. It didn't exactly hurt, but it felt extremely unfamiliar and bizarre until he got used to it. He could barely hear the sound of the water falling over them, he could only feel. The way Wilson kept kissing his neck and holding his waist firmly was overwhelming by itself; combined with all the other sensations, he felt like each centimetre of his skin was sensitive enough to be carved by Wilson's fingers and marked permanently by his fingerprints. He moved his other hand to his groin, to touch himself in the meanwhile, to amplify that sensation of being about to jump without parachutes over the deep blue sea; closer with each second to an unknown place and an unknown kind of pleasure, still to be tried and proved real.

Wilson closed his eyes once among that feverish, delicious confusion of muscle responses and crazed hormones they were. His pulse rate was so accelerated it seemed the blood would bust out his veins, and his own groin seemed to be on fire, one the hot water would only feed. He was able to feel the pulse of House's, all around; by the throbbing on his neck, the vibration of his heart on his chest, and even against his fingers, inside him. That rhythm, he needed to be with it. It was downhill. He was making every effort in the world to keep on steady and feeling each muscle inside his arms relax just as it should, but in small blackouts breaking his already messy train of thoughts, like a blink, he found himself pressing House a bit more against the wall. He swallowed hard and opened wider his eyes, breathing between clenched teeth, repeatedly telling himself he couldn't literally push him that way. And he would wait as much as it would take; but though nerve endings being stimulated were to cause pleasure, he was the one groaning really low in each breath.

At one point amidst the steam - the steam that could be the water drops in calefaction as soon as they hit his skin, Wilson held both sides of House's hips, his fingers pulling skin and holding precisely. The following movement wasn't anything invasive, but the squeeze itself was strong, of him shoving his hips against House. Again they were rubbing and grinding against other - that position alone would bring thousands of completely different meanings and unprecedented sensations. It happened three or four times - it was too much to bear. " _Oh, Greg..._ " he moaned helplessly in House's ear, nearly with suffering in his voice, rolling his eyes and biting his earlobe. He brought one of his hands back and held his own erection. It was so hard to make himself think and interpret when his reason decided to travel to a whole universe away from his mind. Not that he needed any reason to tell him that, after he positioned himself, he'd need to apply the right pressure not to hurt House and let his body to be tense again, even though it would be unlikely. There was such a tiny difference between pain and pleasure in that situation, but no one needed to let the first one to take anything over. He wouldn't conceive any pleasure to himself if the other man wasn't completely into it, so it was less a rational, caring thing to do than a demand of his own raging arousal. So, when his hips inched forward, towards House, when he felt he was starting to be inside him, he even stopped kissing his back, unable to do anything else. He could have as well stopped breathing or feeling the rest of his body - but yet his attention was entirely in House's reactions.

House stopped consciously thinking by the time he felt Wilson's hardness against his bottom; there wasn't any synapse of him that wasn't concentrated in keeping him alive and keeping him aware of everything happening in his body, with his body. He closed his eyes helplessly when his name was spoken in that particular blue universe of two and a half square meters, feeling as if taken by a high fever that consumed his entire self. He kept remembering himself to be as relaxed as he could, and when he felt Wilson inching inside of him, slowly, carefully, he catch his breath as well. It wasn't exactly pain, and it wasn't pleasure yet. It was a powerful sensation for which he had no name, no definition. He couldn't explain it with words if he tried. It blocked all his other senses for a moment, and he parted his lips automatically, not breathing properly. He opened his eyes when it was just too strong for him to bear, and the sound that came out of his mouth - deep, resonant, almost animalistic - could have been interpreted as a sound of pain if he hadn't held tightly the tender flesh of Wilson's bottom with one hand and bent his head backwards, with his lips still parted but not making a single sound after that deep moan.

Against House's back, Wilson's chest was expanding and retracting violently, hiccoughing, as he still experienced a kind of brief shock.  _Inside him_. That was... - but his reason vanished again and he wouldn't come to any definition, exploding itself into sparks. Tell about mind-blowing. Each time he realized, another shiver went down his spine and another shot of arousal to illuminate his synapses like lightning. He slid his hands to the other's chest, wrapping him in an embrace, and it was only when he wanted to kiss the other's ear that he realized he had been smiling. Immediately addicted to the sound of the moan that went out of House's throat, he moved out and in again, a bit further, while his mouth was also automatically and inevitably parting.

House exhaled the air loudly as Wilson thrust deeper, catching his breath right after that, searching for the sparkle of light that illuminated his self for a brief second like a beacon in the middle of the fog. He let go of Wilson's hips to touch himself, and when the other tried to assume that task too, he didn't let him, explaining between the sounds that he couldn't control. "No... Just... Deeper." Speaking demanded an energy he couldn't waste, and a concentration he had lost long before. Another soft bite in his neck, and then a deeper thrust - Wilson wasn't completely inside of him yet, and he was over the line between pain and pleasure, but he felt so close to the latter that he decided to take the risk. He clenched his teeth just to separate them soon afterwards, as another deep moan came out of his mouth. House held firmly on the windowsill, both to have something to lean on and because of the natural response to that strong wave of sensations overwhelming him. It was maybe too much in such a short period of time, but it wasn't enough. He  _needed_  more.

God, House shouldn't have... Hearing an order for something he could as well beg made Wilson's breath nearly whine out of his throat. He was having a hard time even to kiss House's skin when the slow, reentering movements were replaced by repeated shoving - still restrained, but less and less each time he could get House to moan and catch his breath. He couldn't keep his hands still; though he needed to hold the other's waist or hips in order to coordinate their movements, his slippery fingers and his spasmodic body were not helping him. He let his head bend back a bit, and the hot water covered his face. Panting through his open mouth, he wiped his eyes with his fingers and ran them through his own hair, not without grasping it as another reaction to the fierce shuddering, collapsing situation he was in.

The vibration of the pleasure he was feeling seemed to make him tremble, not as if his muscles were being strained, but more like there was an earthquake shaking the entire world. Once in a while, he remembered he shouldn't be moaning so loud, but it was already too late every time, and there was just space for  _louder._  And Harder. Deeper.  _More._  Soon, Wilson was also grabbing the windowsill with one hand, while the other was clung to the other's hip, and the movements were becoming convulsive. He was humming low swearing in a hoarse whisper by House's ear, and, within thrusts, he turned to kiss House's face. When his hips touched the other's body, though, his mouth opened by itself, to a sudden breathe in, and his lips skimmed in House's jaw as he closed his eyes.

All those sounds... The water falling on the floor as some kind of music in the distance compared to the almost lubricious sounds of their bodies colliding and the words coming from Wilson's mouth; the moans less and less spaced, more like howls; the irregular breaths by his ear. Each time Wilson rubbed in his prostate he saw a glimpse of paradise, and the pain was put aside as a mere consequence, not important enough to be taken seriously before the magnificent euphoria taking over his mind. He was close to the edge, too close - and he was way past his silently attitude of the beginning, just watching Wilson to see what the younger were capable of. He too could only whisper the words, panting severely, but it wasn't even needed. Wilson wouldn't slow down or stop if he didn't keep asking him to go faster, deeper; still he spoke those words barely recognizing its meaning. He only knew those words, useless words in an universe made of low sounds coming from the deep of their throats. The spasms became stronger, making him contract his muscles involuntarily, tightening himself around Wilson, and there they were: surrounding and embracing each other in different ways, but moved by the same force that they trivialized calling it desire.

In several moments after it all stopped being a connection between each other's body and they started really  _fucking_ , Wilson had to think away of that light blue secrecy, or he would fall inside it quickly and definitively. He needed to think about how it would be the rain or how was the road, and it eventually was always about House. Wilson would chuckle, as a breathless incredulous laughter, since he couldn't even believe the pleasure he was feeling, with whom and in which situation he was feeling it. That restrained laughter, wasn't it last week that he was straight and that he hated House? He'd slide his hands on the back and remind himself to count each vertebra again, though he couldn't get to do it, not even four, before his mind exploded in senses again. But, for a second, the feeling in his heart would distract him from the uncontrolled, unforgivable sensation between his hips and give him more minutes inside that delicious tightrope. Then he would be able to do it hard again, deep again, he'd slide his fingers in House's hair and hold it, he'd kiss his nape and he'd make everything for them to find the same synchrony, though he knew they wouldn't just be beautifully coordinated in their first time.

And it seemed each time he held on, he'd feel it stronger the next time. But when he started to feel House's body losing control against his, every scattered moan, each breath broken in half, every twitching or tightening in his muscles, Wilson knew he wouldn't be able to deal anymore. He leaned his forehead in House's shoulder. "Greg, I..." He nearly whined. In the next second, he couldn't even scream. He wouldn't even want to move and end it if he wasn't sure that House was about to come with him, but it was like his own body responded demanding the relief, locking his hands in the other's hips and pushing him fiercely against him, in deeper thrusts. "P-please...I- I-..." All he was doing was giving House even stronger spasms, what subsequently again brought him more of that sensation they called pleasure - it seemed another trivialized word.

At one point, Wilson couldn't tell the difference between his actions and House's reactions. He begged again, then he swore, and then blasphemed, and then he couldn't say a word. His hand reached again to the windowsill like he could fall, and his movements pushed House against the tiles. He was holding his breath - was a bad, bad idea for someone whose brain was drowning and whose body was using all the oxygen possible and whose head was spinning, dazed and blurred. In the following moments, he came like he couldn't help lightning from striking him.

A strangled moan left House's throat as his body stood still for the moment, with Wilson buried deep inside of him and hitting the exact point that would turn on every light in his head, turning him into a trembling mess of neurotransmitters and body fluids that were washed away by the hot water, barely standing on his feet. Wilson came seconds after him, as he felt himself being filled with warm liquid, and he rested his forehead on the wall in front of him, unable to do anything else. His lungs screamed for air his heart felt as if about to jump out of his chest, and he was part of everything and nothing at all. He slowly loosened the grip on the windowsill, feeling gravity and exhaustion taking over him - it  _had_  been an entire day out without resting, after all. House chuckled weakly to himself, amazed. His body was pushed to the limits, and Wilson seemed to have forgotten of his condition, leaning on his shoulder that way when he felt like his legs were about to give in. For the moment, he didn't care if both of them fell on the bathroom's floor - that smile was attached on his face, and he'd wear variations of it until he fell asleep, with Wilson by his side.

Wilson leaned carefully in the wall with one hand. He realized that if he was feeling like falling, much worse dizziness and shuddering must have been affecting House. Anything obvious would demand over-thinking, and even breathing properly seemed to be a task to be performed step by step. He didn't want to smile if it would seem like any sort of victory, but it was physically impossible to stop it. Getting out of House's body was also weird, and so was stepping back, even if just slightly.

Turning House in his direction, to face him again, he held the other's torso like he could support him – not that he actually thought his legs would bear both their bodies, but that they had to. He didn't look into House's eyes directly; the grin on the other's lips - House frequently seemed more to be grinning than smiling, but there was actually a tired softness in that twist of lips - magnetized his attention and freed his expression to show the overwhelming amount of amazement that was astonishing him. Although he was still puffing, he held House firmly as if to mean he could lean on him, and kissed him gently, fitting the other's upper lip between his lips, only for a delicate moment under hot water falling upon feverish bodies.

House felt his muscles all loosened, as if he had absolutely no bones, no structure to support him. It was just the afterglow consuming each drop of desire still running through his blood, turning it into that deep feeling of plenitude and whatever was called that will to keep Wilson close and never letting go. He was a mess of conflicting sensations - he belonged to both the ground and the sky, and the aching in his body was a pleasant one, for what it represented, for everything it meant. If he had ever reached a climax like that, it was washed away by the soft warm rain falling over him; erased by those lips brushing tenderly over his own. When they separated their mouths and looked at one another, House grinned widely, because it was all he could do. Slowly (always slowly, as the delay between the neuronal impulse and the action didn't seem to diminish so soon), he pushed Wilson's hair away from his forehead, away from those impressively dark brown eyes that showed a discreet glimpse of crimson like the remains of a bonfire under the dark night sky. House kissed those lips again, just as tenderly as he had been kissed a minute before, but time didn't exist anymore. There were only the both of them in that eternal moment that would remain burning in his memories, everlastingly.

Whilst they were inside that languid surrender, Wilson's eyes would tell everything, and his face would hide nothing. He was so delighted he could wear an expression of adoration. There was inwardness in their intimacy, like they couldn't help but being with their walls down. The movements of theirs were dozy, lips pressing in skin, fingers holding faintly, slow blinks, like the seconds were dragging lazily. Wilson didn't have the strength to even imagine going through all that again, but everything inside him would know that he'd want another dose of the pure pleasure distilled from their glands. If he thought he was willing to do anything, now he was sure - but he was sure of too many things inside there, with his mind doped and high on Gregory House. The exhaustion was taking them over silently and profoundly. "I think we better rest for a while." He whispered. "For a week, maybe", and smirked.

"It's a good thing I already limp naturally, otherwise it would be too easy to tell that I've just been fucked by my naughty boy." House mirrored Wilson's smirk, winking once. His legs felt more steady as the dulling and amazing sensation left him slowly, and he was sure he could step out of the shower cubicle without help. House let go of Wilson's waist and held one of his hands just for them to keep the physical contact, gesturing to the door with his head.

Chuckling and remaining with the needed smile, Wilson turned the shower off, and the silence echoed in their ears, profound and intense, like the sound of water falling was the background sound that had been the soundtrack of their whole lives, and that it would be weird to get used to dry sounds, or even to be dry at all. Their wrinkled fingers were still in each other when they stepped out the glass box, but they had to separate when they picked the towels. The silence was still there, again as if it was too demanding to speak and to dry their skins or walk at the same time. There was still some puffing in their breaths, and thoughts in their heads, that just slipped away in the next moment. Wilson was drying his hair when he looked at his image in the mirror, reddish skin, that stupid smile in his mouth. He waited for House to walk out the bathroom, something unsaid thinking both about some need to lean and the will to just be close, enough to reach out and touch, to be real and to be sure. When they reached the bed, Wilson nearly fell on it. The sheets, still moist in some places where they had laid on with wet hair and clothing before, were all cold.

House smiled as Wilson thrown himself on the bed, with his face hidden in the sheets. He stared at his body as if trying to memorize how it looked in the poorly illuminated room. Pulling the covers slowly over Wilson, he let his fingers touch the soft skin. "You should be careful with your body language, kid. A more wicked man wouldn't just observe as you show yourself this way." He stopped pulling the covers by the time his eyes reached Wilson's waist, to trace a line to connect the dots painted over his skin. "You said you had freckles, not a whole galaxy on your back." His eyes immediately started looking for patterns, almost unconsciously, as if searching constellations in the sky. He sit on the bed, beside Wilson, not wanting to walk around the bed and lay on the other side.

Wilson felt the eyes checking on his back, and it would even make him assume something dirty if he weren't already covered to his waist. There was something in House's eyes that he couldn't decode, but he was really paying attention. "Told you I sleep this way, you'll have to control your raging instincts." He pulled the pillow under his face lazily, crawling just a bit to the side, for House to have space but not to be far from him. " _Jeez_ , if you still have enough energy after this, I don't even think I'd even have the strength to stop you." He wanted to answer something about what House said about his freckles, but he couldn't. He didn't know what to think. But as the look went on, with careful fingertips skimming on his back, on the edge of making him shiver, he finally made a comment. "I can't see what's actually the pattern on my back, but I never thought I was a dalmatian."

"House had bent his head to the side slightly, still concentrated. Around twenty-two tiny spots, if he hadn't missed anyone because of the lack of light. Deviating his eyes slowly from the stained skin, he got in the bed and laid down, not far from Wilson, but not exactly touching him. His body felt heavy with exhaustion, and he sighed, relieved, closing his eyes. After some seconds, he answered Wilson. "If you were to be a dog, you'd be a labrador, not a dalmatian. Dalmatians have a terrible temper; you're Mr. " _You've got cancer but it's a beautiful day outside, and I'm sure today will be better than yesterday_ "." He spoke slowly and low, and made another pause before continuing. "There isn't any pattern. If there's symmetry, it's a broken one and can only be perceived by an only point of view. Takes some time..."

For a moment in the following silence, Wilson thought to himself what dog breed would match House's personality, but it was too much to consider, and he thought that maybe a cat would be simpler to summarize all the characteristics. He lifted his body a bit and covered House better with the blanket, like he did to him. His thoughts then remained in his last sentences. House had said something about symmetry, and Wilson couldn't quite comprehend what he meant with it. It sounded beautiful, and he wondered if he had missed the reference or if House was just starting to babble. Maybe that was how he babbled in some situations - with unknown references of something that would only belong to him. He said galaxy once; Wilson would picture House's mind as something alike. They are gigantic, colossal spheres of plasma held together by their own massive gravity, with an incalculable power of producing light and heat, while he, Wilson, was just before a clear sky to watch the luminous dots. He found himself wanting to know if it was so, and what else would he say when the guards were low, and if he would be allowed to watch those stars.

"You do have Siberian husky eyes." He ended up saying, laying drowsily by his side again. He blinked slowly, face on the pillow and wearing a simple smile, like he had revolved around meanings, stumbled in words, only to decide in the end that they would do better unsaid. He reached for House's wrist, and his fingertips caressed the palm of the other's hand, under the covers.

House was already drifting off - random images passed before his eyes, some he recognized as true, some he didn't felt so sure about - when Wilson touched his palm, and he breathed deeply at the touch, as if it was trying to pull him to the surface again. He had heard what Wilson said, but everything seemed to be covered by a thin layer of fog, like the steam in the bathroom when they were in that whirlwind of sensations. It had sounded clear enough for him to believe it wasn't just the somnolence taking over him, and he swallowed quietly before speaking. "I'm not pulling any sledge for you, if that's what you're suggesting." The words left his mouth with a dull slow tone, and he fell asleep soon after, lulled by the continuous sound of the rain and the gentle caress on his hand.

After a weak laughter that came out somehow as a chuckle, Wilson just sighed tiredly. He couldn't answer, and he knew he didn't have to. Blinking slowly, he let his muscles dictate the following moments, and they would surely tell to just sink inside that sweet exhaustion. House's hand, though not actually holding his, was corresponding with subtle touch. Soon, it wasn't anymore, and immediately the other's breath was deeper.

"Greg?" He asked, low, whispering, and it just remained in the air. One long minute passed, in which Wilson did nothing, but he didn't have any idea of the seconds that passed. A low thunder broke down outside. He caressed the way up to House's shoulder, leaning both hands on the mattress afterwards. Lifting his body, he inched towards House and kissed his temple, closing his eyes, his nose touching the wet hair of the other's. He opened his eyes again, to look at him. Still profoundly asleep, and Wilson just smirked. Reaching for his face and drawing the line of his wet eyebrows with one finger, the smirk evolved to a smile, and once again he sighed. He looked to his own pillow, like finding the right fit demanded some engineering, until he pulled it closer and laid beside House, one arm over his chest, and, then, just as quickly as the man inside his arms, he fell asleep.


	8. Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I know it's quite soon but you've got a lovely heart;  
> I hope that you feel it too and a flame follows these sparks.  
> "
> 
> Lewis Watson, "Bones"

When House opened his eyes again, the room was filled by the cold first light of the day, and he immediately was invaded by the nauseating sensation of not having slept enough. Closing his eyes again he felt each pain spot in his body starting to burn, and he knew it would be impossible just to sleep again without a little help. When he tried to move his arm, to rub his eyes before getting up and searching for the small orange cylinder, he noticed the impossibly warm body lying over his arm and part of his chest and a mess of brown hair over his shoulder. Wilson's had an arm around his waist, and House felt the ghost of a smile taking over his lips, despite of the pain. He was being embraced so sweetly that it could have made him stay inside that comfortable shelter, if the pain in his muscles wasn't so persistently and distressing. Sighing low, he started to think of a way to get up without waking Wilson up, but it seemed there wasn't any way.

Hoping the other was a heavy sleeper, he pushed the arm away from him, as delicately as he could, pushing Wilson's body away from his as well. After what felt like a lifetime, he was standing beside the bed, and Wilson was still sleeping. Sighing relieved, massaging the sleepy arm that was under Wilson's torso, he started to look for his clothes amidst all the others left on the floor, moving always slowly because of the pain. Taken the pills, he had another task: to go back to bed just as quietly as he got out, but it seemed Wilson wouldn't be awake so soon, and he was more confident this time. His arm reached for Wilson's, and in a second they were almost in the same position they were before, and House closed his eyes, smiling slightly inside that embrace.

Unlike falling asleep, that sudden and profoundly, waking up felt like being slowly dragged to reality. Between dreams and the instants that he was awake in the middle of the night, - or was it in the morning already - Wilson had opened his eyes for an entire second to realize it was truth. Truth, hearing his heartbeats, against the skin of his face. He was holding House's body close and there were no clothes in their bodies. All his muscles were a bit sore from tension, and his mind drifted to concerns about the other's body, their relationship, the trip, the hospital, their wedding. He closed his eyes and sighed, as if to hold the steering wheel again, and slowed down his reason, letting that aching from strain just be enough to make him stay laid down. He had barely woken up, and there was nothing to be done in that exact moment. In that exact moment, he was right where he wanted to be in the world, and so should be his thoughts. He yawned and drowsily looked up to the asleep face of the man under his arms. He stretched his arm to caress his hair, and, while doing so, his own eyes lazily closed again.

"You can go back to sleep, I don't intend to leave this bed for next four or five hours and you'll keep me company." House spoke with closed eyes, as if still asleep, but since the moment he woke up to take painkillers he had waken up several times, just to find out nothing had changed and Wilson was still there, and then fall asleep again. He wasn't really sleeping; it was more like quick naps, just resting. It was a moment to be enjoyed - the first time they have slept side by side and waken up with one another's warmth on their skins and everything - but House never was the one to really appreciate such peaceful moments. He would eventually get bored of just watching, and since his body was still aching, even if in a more attenuated way, he wasn't going anywhere and the only thing to do was to go back to sleep. He didn't want Wilson to fall asleep again, but it wouldn't be a problem if he did. Perhaps it was still too early to see the problems - perhaps there were none. For the moment, he couldn't care less about the concreteness of that dream, he wouldn't think about how every human relationship lived on the edge of dying all the time from a heart attack or cerebral death. It felt real, and it was good enough.

A smile came as a response, and Wilson only opened his eyes slightly, stopping the caress, but keeping his hand in House's hair. He leaned the other forearm on the mattress and leaned his body, turning his face to the chest under him and pressing his lips against it. Tracing a line up to his neck of four or five of those soft kisses, Wilson placed a last one under the other's earlobe. " 'Morning", he groaned, with a sleepy voice.

"Is it morning yet?" House opened his eyes tentatively, as if waiting for a violent light to blind him. It wasn't that clear, and his pupils soon adjusted to the soft lighting of the room. "I feel like I've been here in this bed for weeks." House smiled at those kisses, and raised an eyebrow. "You're not getting any today, don't even try to come all husky voice and languid kisses because I need a rest."

"I'm offended you take me for that, have no second intentions at all." The younger smirked and nuzzled in House's neck, kissing it gently. "I just felt like kissing my beloved fiancé." There was something he just realized when he assumed House wouldn't be the type that would be cuddling and exchanging sweet kisses in bed. Wilson automatically felt like showing him how much he was enchanted with it all, how remarkable it had been, and that he really cared about him. Because for Wilson, it was automatic to be there; he couldn't ever pretend nothing happened, he wasn't the man to leave the woman - the person - he had sex with alone, he would never be that 'fuck and flee' deal. But it was a bit different then, and kissing House's cheek, he just laid beside him. He kept himself close enough for their arms to be touching, but it was all. "Well, I have no idea what time is it, and I'd rather not knowing."

House grinned. "You don't need to be ashamed, cherry pie, you can confide me your naughtiest secrets." He shifted his position a little, frowning slightly as he did so, and pulled Wilson's head towards him, to meet his lips in a soft kiss, that was nothing more than a brush of lips, and then looked into his eyes. "I wasn't complaining, and I give you permission to kiss me whenever you want. Of course, in exchange..." House then kissed the point where Wilson's clavicles meet, feeling the blood flowing beneath the warm skin, grinning.

Wilson breathed deeply and blinked slowly, smiling and staring at the ceiling for a few seconds. Each time House corresponded to him, something filled him up with a sensation of... completeness. That could be really accurate, and it was quite simple for him, even when it seemed so huge. "Anything, cowboy." When he looked at those meticulously blue eyes, he really meant it, and for a moment he was sure that House could read its meaning. Then he chuckled, placing his arm around House's waist. "Do you want me to interrupt surgeries or steal corpses? I can break into patient's houses, maybe steal- oh, steal files. Let's steal the hell out of Kaufman's office."

"James Wilson, you're quite a delightful surprise. The only thing missing is you telling me you're secretly a porn actor." House grinned widely, caressing the other's brown hair and feeling its texture while dry. It felt good under his fingers, just like he imagined it would, with all those products Wilson put in his hair. Brown hair, brown eyes, such a rich and underrated color. It made him feel warm to see how comfortable Wilson was with the whole situation, how the younger looked at him with so much affection.

Wilson restrained a laughter, and then a smile, biting his inner lips and pressing them. "Well, actually..." And he deviated his eyes from House's for a moment.

House's eyes widened as a disbelieving amazement took over him. "God, this must be one of the most amazing things I've... I  _need_  to tell everyone. What's the name of it, I must have a copy."

"No- No!" Wilson closed his eyes quickly, and gestured as if House should dismiss the idea. "No, first, I'm not a porn actor, I- I wasn't even- No, it's not what you are thinking. It was a friend in college, I never thought he would get to be a director one day. It wasn't-" he snorted, feeling his face warming up. "I wasn't in the scenes your kinky thoughts are hoping, sorry to disappoint, nothing to see there", he finished, too quickly though stuttering, and too affirmative to be entirely true.

"Oh, someone's denying it so eagerly... It must be true." House smirked at the blushing face, enjoying it immensely. "I'm just feeling honoured to be marrying an artist, you don't need to be ashamed, as I've just said. You didn't look ashamed last night in the shower, not even a bit, and I'm sure things in the shower were much more... Well, you were there too, you know what I'm talking about." House then shrugged, as if it didn't matter, as an evasive. Of course he wouldn't just leave it alone. " I have a lot more to see here, I'm sure." Moving his arm to the blanket's border, he lifted it slowly to stare at Wilson's body with a look full of lust, came from nowhere. With that same look he stared back at Wilson's face, and his voice was low. "Don't you think I deserve it? Or are you afraid I might get jealous? Please, James. The name. I'm just curious, you know me. Now more than ever, I'd say."

Wilson bent his legs unconsciously, like he was really embarrassed, like House's eyes were able to undress him even more fully and completely. When those eyes met his face, he shivered and smirked. Last night was a whole another story, he knew what House meant by that. "For me that thing would have been banished from the surface of the Earth. And don't come with the Siberian husky puppy eyes or something, it won't work. I wouldn't give it to anyone in a thousand years, you'd have to torture me. We can write a new script ourselves." He slid his hand to House's chest, his fingertips on his nipple. "Come on, just forget it."

House narrowed his eyes, like a stubborn child who's just received several negatives to everything he asked for. But it lasted only for a second, as an idea passed through his mind, and he had to control himself not to smirk.  _Just wait and see_ , he thought, while sighing and staring at the ceiling, with a blank expression. "Fine, whatever."

Wilson didn't know what he was waiting, but it wasn't that. "What? What do you mean?"

"You clearly don't want to talk about it, I'll stop asking." House tried to sound like someone obviously hurt, but making an enormous effort not to show it. It was just to make Wilson feel guilty - what he was planning to do would have to wait some time.

Wilson frowned, looking curiously hard at House's expression. "I don't know if you mean to make me feel guilty, but I am afraid instead." The hand in his chest slid down to his upper abdomen, and he pushed him, slightly but securely, and leaned on him. Beneath the blanket, he wrapped his arm on his chest and placed his leg between House's. "Don't be revengeful, honey, it's your sweetheart you're talking about." He once again kissed his neck – this time, it was like the lust in House's eyes had contaminated him and spread to his own gestures.

"You don't need to worry, buttercup. I wouldn't ever do bad things to you. Unless of course you asked for it, but then I'd be as lovingly as I could." House smirked, feeling Wilson's 'morning glory' against his thigh. He was still feeling sore, though much less than before, but denying morning sex was a pity... House decided to just watch his lover, to see what would come from all those little touches and provocations.

After another kiss, Wilson just laid on House's chest, pressing their bodies together, and then sighed. "Speaking of bad things, all the teasing we do. I don't know if it was different for you, but I was addicted to it, without even realizing why. I know now, it was like foreplay." He skimmed the tip of his fingers on House's skin, along the sides of his body. He didn't expect House to be ready for another round, whatever that could mean - he would be satisfied in making him shiver, just trying if he could make the breath deepen just a bit or the beating under his ear increase slightly. "It's good by itself. But now, I mean, any innuendo that leads us to think about my panting breath in your ear and your hands on my waist, grabbing me close, it's now so graphic for us. I hate the idea that we have to leave here soon, but maybe in Jersey we can do something about that maple syrup idea." Although his voice was low and steady, his tone was unworried, as if it was just bed talk. "It can be only a mess, but in the end every one of those innuendos can all be a mere excuse for senseless, breathless, dazed, mind-blowing sex."

Wilson's fingers were always warm, as if he was some source of heat, his own sun. That tender and faint touch had the ability of making House close his eyes, unavoidably, letting out a soft breath. He could almost hear Wilson's erratic breath by his ear, and the younger was right: he could picture everything they'd done and everything they could do, everything he wanted to do. There was so much to see of each other - faces, attitude, traits. Still with closed eyes, he spoke slowly, in a hummed voice. "We're not leaving today, cuddle bear, we have this time to spend together. I'm feeling a bit sore right now, but I want to see your face when you reach an orgasm, as soon as possible. It must be priceless to see this pretty face contorting with every spasm, the lips parting, the eyes... I'm thinking about a sink and a mirror, but we can find other ways. I want to see you wearing some marks on your neck, as I'm sure I'm wearing right now." He spoke with the same light tone, and shrugged, petting Wilson's hair mindlessly. "We have plenty of time, fiancé, in fact we can have all the time we want."

When Wilson shivered, he felt all his wills backfired. He swallowed hard loudly. To him, it was like he was in some sort of debt with House, as stupid as considering it would be. But that would be no reason to do what he didn't want to, and it wasn't the case. He wanted it, he wanted it all really bad - it seemed that good, he just wished it would be  _that_  easy as House's delicious words sounded. He kissed his chest and breathed in deeply, the memory of his body shuddering and twitching inside his arms taking him over. and he wanted to find out if the idea of switching places would be a good one. He breathed hard against the warm skin, trying to figure out the idea. He nearly said it, dirty talk at its finest _'Oh, I imagine how it would feel, you hard inside me, deeply, repeatedly.'_  But when he took the breath to speak, he was afraid of the meaning, and hesitated before saying something. "I could go out to buy ourselves some things we need. Like food, and _,_ um. It must be embarrassing to buy lube in a drugstore." Though he shrugged, as he looked at House, his eyes let the genuine concern be shown.

House felt the change in Wilson's breath rate, just as the shivers - when they were that close, there was little they couldn't notice. He smiled, his fingers still playing mindlessly with Wilson's hair, something he felt already addicted to. He didn't worry about what they could do together, knowing that each action would have its own sparkle of amazement. On that strange bed, being warmed up by Wilson's body, with the memories of the night before still burning in his thoughts, he was at ease with everything else. That sensation wouldn't leave him when they left the bed and went back home, and that thought was just as warm than the body pressed by gravity against him. "Now that you said I'm, I'm really starving. We could go out to have breakfast, if you want, and then we could go together to the pharmacies to buy the lube, I'm sure it will be f- " House stopped before he could say 'funny', holding back a smirk as he did so. "...far more comfortable for us to be together when we first buy it, you know, to have some support and everything."

Within a sigh, Wilson looked away - to the beige wall, somewhere in which his mind could be, for a second, away from the sight of bare skin, white sheets and celestial blue eyes, as if the pastel colors could make it easier to think. He sighed again, in what could be a deep breath, and closed his eyes, turning his face to House again. He pressed a kiss against his shoulder, beside a hickie mark. "I think I have another idea for now." He parted his mouth in the following one, his inner lip skimming up House's neck. "I think we should put our clothes in the window to dry up, order some food in a delivery... and stay exactly where we are now." When he inched up, for a moist kiss to touch House's skin, his tongue touching it briefly, their hips rubbed together. He whispered, voiceless, in his ear, breathing in deeply. "What do you think about it?"

House closed his eyes and grinned, feeling himself being taken by that same warm delight he felt when they first kissed. He hummed low, and used the same whispered tone to answer. "Staying here sounds good. I like how it feels..." When the brown sparkling eyes looked into his own, he just grinned wider and brought those lips closer to his. He didn't even remember a time when they weren't in that beautiful harmony of wills and needs, and their clothes were just as forgotten. It could almost frighten him, the way in which he was falling so fast and feeling so light, alive, and - why not? - happy. Wilson's skin felt right under his fingers slowly counting ribs, and once they got what they needed, the outside world could as well be forgotten.


	9. A man inside my mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bedroom was an engine and my heartbeat was erratic  
> (Like I think I'm at the racing  
> Like the night before)
> 
> The Cure, "A man inside my mouth"

It was like they were so closed to themselves, so attached to each moment and movement, to every shivery pore of their skins, that all those scenes turned into vivid memories printed in his brain. It was like watching over and over again to an erotic movie inside his head - who was he kidding? A pornographic one. Wilson was in the hospital, in the next regular day of work, in the same glass-walled room with his boss and his co-workers. He had the red mug in his hand, serving himself and House some coffee, who was sitting in the other side of the room, and, if Wilson had seen, he'd notice how he was just as far away from the room as him - but he wouldn't exchange looks. He felt like he nearly shouldn't.

Although the other's weren't directly House's subordinates, it seemed they had some practical matters to discuss. There wasn't a case to be solved but lots of boring stuff, such as reports. Wilson would really want something that could defy his mind, dare it to stop rewinding to the day before, remembering of himself hard and throbbing against House's hips, grinding and rubbing in a portrait before which something so called 'indecent' would be prudish. The shameless remembrance that could now make him blush, but that there was leaving him panting with his mouth unavoidably open, arching his back and pressing his head against the pillow - back in the present, he dropped coffee over his own hand, the mild burning sensation bringing him violently to reality. Chase and Cameron looked at him with frowns or confused looks, and he just placed the mug in the counter to wash his hands.

House noticed when Wilson dropped the coffee - he was aware of every movement of him in that room, because it was the only thing that would keep him from remembering of their bodies in the mess of limbs and sweat over that bed. The sheets were ruined by the time they left the hotel, and he had to control himself not to smirk, what was completely useless. The memories were unavoidable, and it fit like a glove that boring meeting. He hated paperwork. His own case notes were already placed with all the other closed cases' notes - in the garbage. As the others babbled obvious things about the patient's present condition, his mind wandered to that room, that small dreamland.

Wilson's very hands, that probably smelled like coffee in the moment, had been the source of the fire that slowly consumed him to sweet insanity, where all that mattered was 'more'. They burned slowly but fiercely, immersed in each other. When his body was still under Wilson's, being touched in the most amazing way but still not enough - it never felt like enough - he pushed the other to lay on the bed, while House himself laid over him and pressed their hips together intensely, rhythmically, getting faster and faster with each helpless sound that left Wilson's lips. He wanted to kiss and taste all that skin, but he couldn't just decide what he wanted first, so he just pressed open-mouthed kisses to the younger's chest, neck, lips, shoulders.

When the coffee was placed in front of him, he turned to face Wilson, but he had already gave him his back and walked to the corner of the room, as out of the way as possible, as if hiding. Stealing glances from time to time, he noticed an awkwardness in Wilson's movements, just as how he looked so concentrated in breathing or whatever, concentrated enough to forget about his coffee. House missed part of the questions directed to him, and he answered as well as he could without asking what was said, but it came to a time when he hadn't heard anything.

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying?" said Taub.

"Can you say that again? I wasn't paying attention." House's tone was mocking, and Taub just shot him a look of quiet annoyance, as expected, before speaking again.

By the moments he was concentrating, Wilson realized that the subject was indeed really simple, and his brain refused to pay attention. He was feeling like an aroused teenager, and it made him chuckle to himself. It was like his mind decided it wouldn't do but remember moments as when House pushed his shoulders to the bed and moaned low and hoarse for the first time in that day. He couldn't even try to compare with the night before that, the hot shower, because his reason would explode. Each one of the scenes were inherent parts of a whole But there was this entirely new and overwhelming thing about being able to see the look in his face, to hear his desperately fast breath beside his ear and the weight of his body on his. He looked at House's hands and it flashed in his eyes the scene in which the older sank his hand in his hair and grabbed it, pulling it as if to show more skin of his throat, and kissed his neck so eagerly he thought it would leave marks. He shivered and shook his head.

"Think I already got it." He walked to the desk and picked his file. "I have clinic duty now, I'll fill up the reports until three." he said, dryly, and swallowed hard before he could look angry or rude. He looked right at House and smiled, what, as his very stare was really telling, turned into a smirk. "Meet me for lunch, Greg?"

Wilson's voice almost startled House in the middle of his own reveries, and he smiled back. "Sure, see you later."

The others stared at the scene with a confused curious look, and Chase hesitated for a second before asking "Is everything okay between you both? Have you... fought, or something?"

"No, I'm sorry, I'm still taken. And I have the marks to prove it." House smirked and looked at Wilson, who seemed anxious to leave the room.

Wilson stared at his feet and his smirk was stuck in his face. "We are great." he looked at the room, at Chase, with his head still low. "We haven't been better, I'd say." Although it could sound like sarcasm, Wilson smiled wide before leaving the room.

"It's not a fight. Ten bucks they had sex in the hospital." Taub said in a low voice, only to Thirteen by his side, though he wasn't actually hiding what he said from anyone. She laughed quietly and briefly.

"All of you, you look too interested in our sex life and not caring the least bit about the report, so can we declare it finished? Porn doesn't download by itself, and I need to take care of my farm on Harvest Moon and finish that stupid level on Tomb Raider." The other doctors chuckled, and the changing in the way they were behaving near him was tangible. As Wilson left the room, blushing slightly, the memory of that face also flushed but with a helplessly that suited it very well came alive into his mind. The way he moved under his body, as if losing control of his limbs, while his lips parted wider and wider. Those lips, that started it all, kissing his already marked neck, and then down his chest and abdomen, tentatively, just exploring. Remembering about that clumsy attempt of a fellatio sent shivers down his spine, that he tried to disguise shifting his position on the chair, while Cameron talked endlessly about... whatever it was.

They hadn't gone all the way with that; House could only imagine how complicated it was and how complicated it would be when he tried to perform it on Wilson. In the end, they were covered in sweat and spurt, panting, and it was amazing anyway. They could pay attention to the details on each other's reactions, not only feel, but see. House was breathing deeply by then, but no one seemed to notice - or they pretended not noticing it.

Wilson could pay attention on the patients - he always cared too much not to give all of himself. It was mainly worried mothers, food intoxication and flus, but even so Wilson was even more concerned, like trying to find something interesting in the daily activities to hold on to. The patients seemed to go out not only satisfied to get a prescription and an answer, but happy to be treated with so much care. But to fill up reports was nearly impossible. Leaning both arms on the desk, he looked at the papers, blurred in his sight. He caught himself smirking at the memory of House throbbing inside his mouth, the volume forcing his jaw, the racing pulse against his lips. That was so difficult, damn - but it felt good. Everything did when the sheets were sticking in their sweat, they were dizzy and their eyes were pure darkness. He'd even feel embarrassed for some sort of performance he could have done, but it fade away really fast when House was over his body again. They were discovering each other, and even when this idea seemed cheesy and cliche, with each attentive look at their reactions, he could see that they were learning. And one just wants to learn something they'll want to be better at, if not master. What meant more. He licked his lips and wrote a bit more in the files, breathing deeply. He feared he could never not lose it completely when he remembered the feeling of House coming, inside his arms, on his belly when they were grinding together or while he was inside him, spasmodic, faltering and panting. It wasn't a fear, though - he only wished he could work properly. He looked at the clock and sighed. It must have been three hours that it was ten a.m.

House caught himself missing those soft lips, the soft touch, just as much as the eagerness of the moments before the sweet release they aimed for. How Wilson's face was able to change from a true shyness to that surrendering to all sensations, holding back too little. He could find out about Wilson's movie by himself, but it would be so much better to make him talk. House smirked at the thought of it, already aware of some of the younger's sensitive points, knowing that with time he would know everything. To find out they were quite different when it came to sensitive points wasn't exactly a surprise, though he found that interesting enough to want to find all of them - not only to be able to please Wilson, but to have that self-consciousness of being able to do so.

The way Wilson moaned when House held his hips firmly against his own to keep the pace, and the way their kisses became just the touch of their open mouths through which the air passed erratically; he was missing all of that terribly, an addict in withdrawal, and the fact that Wilson was so close was even more tempting. They still hadn't had sex in the hospital, as Taub suggested, but House was sure it wouldn't take long for that. He even started to think about safe places, where they wouldn't be disturbed, and imagining all the ways they could do that - over desks, against walls, over unoccupied hospital beds - it was a way of making time pass faster, despite having to control himself not to get a boner to exhibit to the whole hospital before making to the bathroom.

Wilson filed the reports and talked for a moment with the receptionist, just because he couldn't tell her to shut. After he had spent the morning wondering how it would be to go to House's office, getting down on his knees behind the desk and finishing what he had started the day before - because in his mind he could ignore glass walls and every chance of him being clumsy and messing it up - he was finally free for lunchtime. Walking along the aisle, he picked his phone and bit his downer lip. He was already arriving when he got to text House. "Already in the cafeteria. Please don't take too long, I miss your eyes on mine honey bunny." He smirked. He opened the door to check if he wasn't there before sending. Sighing, he placed it inside the pocket of his coat again and entered the room. He wasn't hungry, but it was better if he ate something.

"I want French fries and a turkey sandwich, I'm sure you'll get it for me before I arrive, lovey dovey. Can't wait to see these shiny eyes of yours." House texted back, smiling with the corner of his mouth. He had just left the elevator, and his mind was still a bit drowsy from all the memories and fantasies. Despite all that, he walked a bit faster than he usually did, and soon he was opening the cafeteria door with one hand and looking around, searching for Wilson.

The smile in Wilson's face when he saw House getting in, a mixture of feelings that were from relief to nervousness, was difficult to completely interpret, but undoubtedly joyful. He just raised his hand slightly, sure that he was to be seen among the people inside the place. That sensation is weird for both sides, and somehow metaphorical. The seconds of helplessness two people try to find each other in a crowd, and how that sensation of being fades when their eyes meet, crossing the other people like there wasn't anyone to be seen. House had seen him and walked to the table he was sitting in. Wilson stared at the empty place in front of him until House sat down in it without saying a word. When he entered his field of view, Wilson slid in his direction the tray with the French fries and the turkey sandwich.

House smiled at the food, foolishly. In that state he was in, everything could make him feel foolish, but it didn't matter. Wilson's smile had the ability of calming down his eager heart, always willing to jump into the shadows recklessly without caring about where he might fall. He placed his left hand over the one Wilson kept over the table, and squeezed it lightly.

"Won't you eat anything? Here, have some fries. We have to get our energies back before another hot make-out session." House winked and took a bite of his sandwich, keeping his smile while eating.

He picked some fries, biting them, and he could nearly still feel House's touch over his hand. He nearly shivered, how absurd was that? He drank a bit of his juice and smiled at House. There was the always kind expression in his face, but it was nearly burning in his brown eyes the "I want to rip off your clothes and kiss the hell out of you right now" that was igniting his thoughts. "Want some? It's raspberry juice. I'm really hoping there's someone else here who has a reason to throw it in your clothes and I get an excuse to take them off still here in the hospital. The odds are in my favor, I just need to have faith."

House swallowed and raised his eyebrows. "Really, do we still need excuses? Do I have to remember you about how you fucked me senseless in the shower, or how you touched me shamelessly all the time? But I must confess, I like this coquettish manners of yours." He took a sip of Wilson's juice, making a face at how sweet it was, and then put some ketchup over the tray, to dip the fries on it. "I like how you're all naughty when we're alone and all blushing when there's someone around."

Wilson tapped his fingers in the table, and his smile twisted. No, House didn't need to remind him of that - he was remembering it pretty well all morning, and that voice of his saying it seemed to bring it skin deep. He chuckled and looked away. "I do need an excuse, it's where I work in. It's a hospital." he looked back at House. "A hospital with ridiculously empty locker rooms, even in lunch time."

"Would you expose ourselves this way, bright eyes?" House took another bite of the sandwich and stared at some point on the wall beside him for a while, as if considering something deadly serious. "I mean, if someone catch us while we shag in the locker rooms, wouldn't you feel... I don't know, ashamed somehow? Unless it's what makes you do so, the adrenaline of being caught with your mouth on my hard-on... You know I couldn't stop thinking about it all morning." His words were meant to tease Wilson, but he ended up thinking about it all, and he spoke slowly, breathing deeply in the pauses. "I couldn't stop thinking about the way you look when you're just about to come either." He looked into Wilson's eyes for a second and then took another sip of the juice, more to have something to wet his dry throat, after swallowing hard once.

Somehow it looked that House was both teasing and softly mocking his eagerness, and he would play along. "I can deal with it by myself, what I can't do is keeping on my day of work remembering the way you shuddered when I was fucking you." he whispered the last two words, leaning on the tablet get a bit closer, so no one could hear. He licked his lips briefly and his voice was a low growl. "Or the sound of your puffing breath and your moans in my ears when we were in bed. You know, it's hard to remember a voice when you are not near it, and it kills me. Oh, Greg..." he sighed, as if the helpless and low way he called his name was really just a sigh in prostration. "it's making me lose my mind." He leaned his back in his seat. Even holding back, he breathed deeply and faster, as he wasn't trying to hide it anymore. "Good thing I have a coat to hide it, I'll have to solve it one way or another."

Wilson's words seemed to echo in the flat air filled with the dull noise of people talking. House's body seemed to react not to the meaning of the words, but to their sound and vibration. He stared to the half-eaten sandwich and the remaining fries for a moment, as if their color or shape could distract him from the weak memory running over his skin. It was just sex; he could control his wills, the thing was that he didn't want to. House breathed deeply, feeling his jeans tightening a bit.

"You talk about losing your mind, how cute. You can't even imagine what I feel like doing to you. No... I know you can picture it very well by now." House smirked. "So, locker rooms?"

A hot sensation burned Wilson's chest and his groin, and he swallowed hard, staring at House with lustful eyes. He gulped a large amount of his juice, but there was some in the cup yet when he placed it in the table again. "Meet me there, would you?" He dried the corner of his mouth with the tip of his fingers and got up without looking back.

He refrained his pace before it could turn into running, and until he left the cafeteria, no one would even notice that he was in a hurry. It wouldn't do much to be there too quickly when he knew House wouldn't keep the pace, but everyone was used to doctors walking fast down the corridors, and the adrenalin was overflowing for him not to do so. There was something. Darker, empty, the lockers like sorts of walls in front of his sight. He stopped beside the door and leaned his back on the wall. "That's so ridiculous." he whispered to himself, tilting his head back until it leaned on the tiles. He chuckled at himself and kept on smirking.

The way Wilson dried his mouth was so suggestive that it was impossible not to think it was on purpose. House stared into his food again, knowing he wouldn't be able to finish it, and sighed before getting up, He wasn't caring about it though - every drop of his blood was now filled with that keenness he already know well, and it all revolved around Wilson in the end. He couldn't just choose to stay in his office until the end of the shift when he had spent the whole morning fantasizing about those lips, those hands, those eyes...

Walking as fast as he could (what wasn't even near of being fast enough), he passed from corridor to corridor, by each door behind which there were people who didn't have the slightest idea of where he was going and why. It was their little secret, just like everything else, and that complicity was just another string that tied them together. Like partners in crime - partners in every way. When his eyes made contact with Wilson's again, he couldn't hold back a boyish grin, not taken over by lust yet but sparkling with the juvenile glimpse of recklessness. "Have I taken too long, honey honey?"

Wilson never trusted fully that any of it would actually happen. There was a part of him that believed House just wouldn't show up. That in any time he would be wrong, he would be the fool, or he would wake up. It wasn't that he didn't trust House - not that he trusted him either. It wasn't about it; it was more like the sweet fear before a first kiss, that had a rejection pointed to one's chest even though the eyes and the bodies are screaming "go". And that filled him from head to toes with joy each time he was proven the opposite, each time the lips touched, metaphorically or not. He was skin deep due to that forbidden rendezvous, and he could tell himself to ease, to calm down, to focus - but why slow down when all he wanted was to drift off?

"You did, bad wolf." Wilson let out a weak laughter and stepped in front of him, waiting for their electroshock. His hands clung to the waistband of the other's jeans, and he pulled him in his direction. It wouldn't take a step for House to be against his body, and Wilson went towards it with his whole self; his chest expanded in a deep breath, his spine straightened and he lifted his head; in a second, his lips were against House's, still smirking, already eagerly.

House's hands went automatically to Wilson's waist, and it was like they belonged there already. He felt excitement spreading like a wave through his body, and he was smirking in that kiss, too. All of his blood seemed to go down to his groin, and each time their hips rubbed against each other over the clothes he felt like laughing in delight. When their mouths separated slightly for them to breathe, House spoke over Wilson lips, panting. "Bad Wolf? What are you then, nasty Prince Charming?" House placed his hands under Wilson's shirt, touching the skin underneath it, while taking his lips again.

When his lips were taken again, fr Wilson it was like his whole body waved and crashed in House's direction. His hands readily went to the crotch of House's jeans. "We'll have plenty of time to discuss a role-play of a whole porn fairy-tale later if you wish, darling. "The way he said it, uttered, in between puffs, though, seemed better a growl of a wolf. He pressed his mouth against House's again, opening it to a slow bite while his hand opened House's pants and slid inside it, still over his underwear, to make sure he would be hard enough.

The touch was firm and confident, and if House wasn't so taken by the delicious sensation taking over his body, he could think about how Wilson was getting better at everything. He didn't think it would be too difficult, though, mostly because they were both men; it was more about perspective and the initial awkwardness. But in that moment he didn't think about any of that. He caught his breath as if to feel every changing of pressure in that firm grip, and he could feel Wilson's elated grin against his parted lips. His fingers pressed harder on the younger's rib-cage as his tongue eagerly met the other's, in an ever-changing movement that was always interrupted by his heavy breathing.

Wilson's breath was getting louder and it seemed he could never get enough of Gregory. He was really hard by then - and that pronoun could serve just as well to both of them. The hurried craving and the danger increased the intensity like turning up a volume recklessly - another way for them to try. There was so much to look forward to. Every single time, it was like he had never wanted anything badder than that moment, and he never tried to know if that was true or false. There, he was just maddened by the way House's breath faltered and the way he could hardly keep on kissing him. He didn't had time to try or to hesitate. "Come here." He took his hand off of the other's jeans, grabbed his T-shirt and stepped back, pulling him. As soon as House gave the first step in his direction, he held his wrist.

House was still breathing through his mouth, and he followed Wilson's lead, desperate for more. He was way past the point of no return, and from then on he would just keep on rising until there wasn't any higher place for him. Their eyes were locked all the way to the nearest bench, and when he was pushed to it, nor too gentle neither too violent, he was hypnotized by the man with the brown eyes in front of him. His own eyes burned with the craving that only seemed to increase.

Wilson held House's face with both hands, and they slid to his shoulders and his torso while he was kissing him with even more yearning than before. There wasn't room or time to think twice. Wilson wouldn't believe in that saying about being turned into an irrational being by desire until he found himself blindfolded over and over again. When his hands reached House's waist, he stopped bending and crouched; then leaned one knee on the floor, and the other. His hands pulled House's underwear and his mouth reached for his torso, biting the skin of his chest under the T-shirt afterwards. He locked the fabric in his teeth while his hand held House's erection, fighting against his own heartbeat deafeningly pounding in his ears. He leaned his forehead in House's chest, opening his mouth wider to pant and to try to catch as much oxygen as he could. The look he gave to House then had just a glimpse of shyness - his half-smile, biting his downer lip. Something of a second, that would suggest he was laughing inside at the erotic part he was playing. But was a glimpse - it gave room to a lustful, X-rated look, that widened even more his pupils right before House's sight.

House had an astonished look, as if he couldn't understand, and even understanding he couldn't believe. From the beginning he knew what was gonna happen there, but to actually see it, feel it happening... It was a whole another thing. Those eyes, burning with lust, stared right into his, and he knew he had a dumbstruck expression upon his face - speechless from wanting that too much, helpless for having become a slave to his own need. He was already breathing hardly by the time he felt Wilson's mouth planting a languid kiss in his lower abdomen. When he felt those same lips on his hard-on, House inhaled all the air he could at once, feeling his diaphragm being contracted just as well as every intercostal muscle as his thoracic cage expanded. Soon he exhaled it all, gasping quietly, trying not to make any loud noise.

There was an eager concentration in what he was doing with his mouth and with his head; his hands, though, seemed to follow the trembling hankering that was possessing him, indecisive, pure yearning. Wilson's body was screaming urgency, what was spreading to each pore of his skin and to each synapse in his shorting brain. He needed it now - what? It doesn't matter; now. Each time he gasped or even dry coughed, trying to regain his breath, his fingers grasped House's chest or waist, burying in his skin, and then went back to hold the wet, throbbing hardness to help himself to make it until the end. Wilson's body was aching for many things, mainly for personal relief; but he was able to converge that will to what he could do with that was inside his lips. Right there, because of him, inside his mouth, as fast and strong as he could, helplessly, definitively. Wilson wasn't concerned in doing it right - he was concerned in the damn result. He didn't want House to come, he needed it.

House moaned low, it was inevitable. In the beginning, he had his hands placed on the bench, grabbing its border firmly, as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling. When Wilson began really fellating him, it seemed nothing at all mattered but the release, he needed it more than air itself. At some point, Wilson moved his mouth away, to breathe, but to House it felt like he was about to stop, and his hands desperately held the other's hair, trying to contain himself not to pull his head back to his groin and ending up hurting him. He kept reminding himself that Wilson had never done that before, that he couldn't just fuck his mouth as he felt like doing, but it was hard to control his hips. His feet performed some weird dance steps with each spasm, as he was almost reaching his climax, and damn if someone heard him - his groans became more frequent. There was just so much he could hold back. Each time he tried to say Wilson's first name, it was interrupted by his short breaths and the low sounds escaping from his mouth.

It was like Wilson needed an even deeper breath when he was nearly out of it - he'd do it. He was dizzy, his cheeks and his neck were aching. His teeth against his inner lips would probably leave them a bit swollen, but in that moment, he couldn't even mind House was moaning. He'd put them in glass walls again, not for the world to see, but because there was no world at all. The sweat in his forehead and in his neck was moistening his skin, and one of his spasmodic hands pulled his tie clumsily to loosen it. House's sneakers slipped and his hands grabbed his hair, releasing it right afterwards and grabbing the border of the bench. His body was getting too rigid, in desperation, and the convulsion was shaking him in smaller and quicker intervals. Wilson looked up with his softly teared eyes. Oh, that face. He stopped the movements to breathe deeply, while feeling slowly the most sensitive part under his tongue, and, when he started blowing him again, he sucked harder and swallowed deeper - it made him gasp discreetly, feeling the subtle tears in his eyes. He wouldn't take it much longer, but he could bet - he could feel - that House wouldn't either.

The increase in the pressure and velocity produced a violent quake in House's entire skeleton, and he was projecting his hips forward the most he could without shoving, his hands in a delicious indecision in what they wanted to do and the need to seize somewhere, his voice in unintelligible sounds trying to warn him and at the same time asking - maybe begging, maybe threatening - Wilson not to stop now. And he didn't; it was all it took for him to collapse. Wilson could feel it sticky and weird against his palate and on his tongue. He hasn't been thinking at all, he wouldn't think about it now - swallowing hard, he retreated his head, panting severely through his free mouth, with a smirk in his face, slowly wiping his lips and chin with his fingers as he watched House.

House was boneless, panting hardly and trembling weakly. He tilted back his head, to rest it on the wall behind him, incapable of doing anything for a while. His hands had slowly let go of Wilson's hair, and the blood still pulsated hard in his groin, taking some time to go back to its normal rhythm. It hit him like a lightning bolt, right at the pleasure center of his brain, fast and precise. The vision of Wilson wiping his mouth, just like he had done earlier in the cafeteria but this time with his own fluid dripping from those lips, it was just too much. The words he tried to say didn't make sense, and all he could do was stare breathless at those still burning eyes.

After some seconds, infinite seconds of that blinding sensation still strongly doping him, he bent his body and pulled Wilson to him by his tie , gently, to kiss those lips, tasting himself in the other's tongue. His free hand touched Wilson through his pants, feeling the hardness under it, and then fumbled on Wilson's belt, to open it and touch him until he came all over his fingers . He knew it wouldn't take long for Wilson to lose it, but he hoped it would be good enough for the moment - he could pay it all later, gladly, and he already knew how.

Wilson was having a difficult time in kissing House, when his lips were aching and he was desperately out of breath. Nevertheless, his mouth was parting and his body was craving for relief - the decisive touches in his groin and his pants being opened only increased it violently, and he was so aroused he felt already about to come. He helped opening his own pants, murmuring 'please' with his reddish lips against House's, and he whined when the other wrapped him between his fingers. His hips jerked forward and he stood a bit, leaning his knee on the bench and his hands in the tiled wall. He clenched his tired jaw not to let himself moan, but his breath was by itself filled with the sweet agonizing sounds, that once in a while escaped his throat, making him close his eyes.

House's hand moved fast, precisely; it wasn't the time for slow and teasing. But a practical matter came into his mind, slowly going back to its normality after the great explosion of light right before his eyes. He knew he had an extra T-shirt in a locker, but he was hesitating about staining the one he was wearing. The hesitation came and went away just as quickly: Wilson's whines were echoing in his ears, and there was the warm air being blown against his lips, and how could he care about a shirt when he was immersed in that sweet fascination for the man almost sitting on his lap, breathing hardly, just as closer to the edge where House himself had been a pair of minutes before. It was the first time they were able to watch each other's climax without any distraction, like their own simultaneous orgasms drowning their brains in hormones. House could feel each spasm, getting harder and stronger with each second; he could feel the blood pumping in the veins surrounding the muscles he was holding and stimulating; he felt Wilson's body stiffening at the same time his shirt got wet as the other came all over it. His own eyes were full of a serious contemplation for a while, until he smiled softly at the other's helplessness.

Puffing, Wilson let out a laughter, as a gasp, blinking slowly as his legs were trembling from bearing his entire self. Through his hazy dizziness, he was looking at House, while it seemed there was still an echo of all that had just happened hovering between them, and he was still stunned at the image of House jacking him off that way, enough to be even more complicated to just reestablish his normal." Y-your T-shirt." He gave one more breathless laughter. "It's ruined." It was. Somehow that entire morning thinking about that maybe had made the spurts stronger - Wilson had felt it inside his own mouth and wondered if it was so. When it was actually between their bodies, though, there was something unearthly in that pornography, that only them both would understand, and his laughter remained as a wide smile at House's exhausted figure, only not as marvelously wrecked as his own.

He hesitantly stepped on the floor and placed one hand in House's shoulder to regain balance. Then, he readily proceeded to pull his pants up, which haven't fell completely only due to that bent knee of his. He'd clean himself better, but first he needed not to be such a shocking image for anyone who might get in. It would be a bit scandalous indeed to find Dr. James Wilson with both hands in the wall, pants dropped to the middle of his thighs, and his dear fiancé, Dr. Gregory House, sitting in a bench before him with that unmistakable pearly stains all over his dark T-shirt. But Wilson, he'd regard that memory as if it was an artwork to hang in his mind. "It was..." he panted. "needless to say, I suppose." he looked down at his own hands closing his pants, for his eyes not to confess too much again, since he was unable not to smile.

House looked at his shirt, to see the damage made, and sighed, while buttoning his jeans. "I'm sure you'll feel like giving me a new one, gumdrop." He stared at Wilson until the other looked up at him, wearing a wide grin. There wasn't much to be said about what they had just done - it was too amazing to be put into words. They were amazing. House felt great to be part of that, to be the one to be blown by Wilson despite every objection that could have passed through the other's mind and dismissed. And, in the end, he owed it all to a happenstance, to that idea he had to his own benefit when Wilson walked in Cuddy's room when House looked for a way to escape that situation. That moved him to kiss Wilson's palms, with his eyes full of words he didn't know how to pronounce. Letting go of the other's hands, he got up, slowly, leaning one of his hands on the wall behind him, and walked in his locker's direction, to change his shirt.

The softness in House's touch stunned Wilson, like he wasn't stunned enough already, and he was seeing blurry once more while he tidied his shirt and put on his tie again. When the other changed his shirt and Wilson was picking the toothbrush in his own locker, someone went in the closet, even when they couldn't see who was it thanks to the walls made of closets. House and Wilson exchanged some looks, restraining grins, while House was putting on his T-shirt. The person just opened and closed a random locket and went out.

Walking to the sink to clean himself and brush his teeth, Wilson whispered. "What a timing." It made it impossible for them both not to laugh. Then he looked at his own image in the mirror and smirked. "God, it looks like I'm wearing lipstick!" he licked his reddish lips and let out a weak laughter, leaning in the sink.

"Here, let me see." House walked closer to the sink, already knowing how it looked, but Wilson turned to face him anyway. With a smirk, he touched the other's lips with his thumb, lightly. "I like this colour, it suits you. You should wear it more often, this lipstick, so I can appreciate... the view of your red lips."

Wilson looked at House's eyes and then at the lips. "I think this color would suit yours as well." those reddish lips grinned and he reached out to press their sensitive skin against House's mouth. He bit the other's downer lip, still smirking - but that soft bite wouldn't leave any swelling or even a pinkish coloring, working just as a playful, quick kiss.

House just grinned at the remark, with the expression of someone who knows better. He messed with Wilson's hair and laughed at the indignant face of the other, and they seemed to have their smiles glued to their faces as they left the locker room, attracting suspicious looks everywhere they passed by. House felt ridiculously good, and Wilson looked happy, and everything seemed to be under a new light since it all had begun. He hadn't changed - people never change - and neither did Wilson; they were exactly how they were supposed to be to each other and they remained the same individually, and how they felt about each other was completely detached from the rest of the world, as if nothing could touch them. Maybe that was the reason it all worked so well. They exchanged looks in the crowded elevator, and soon they got to House's office, just to find out an unexpected visitor.


	10. I'd be lying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be lying if I ran another way  
> and so I'll stay 
> 
> Greg Laswell, "I'd be Lying"

"I thought I could wait here, since we were supposed to meet fifteen minutes ago." Tritter got up from House's chair as he spoke, looking just as cold and self-assured as on the first time they'd met.

House raised an eyebrow, deeply annoyed. "Well, I was involved in something much more interesting, with someone far more charming. Don't worry, it's not you, it's just that I can't resist when James wants a quickie. Although... No, just say whatever you came to say, we have a lot of... a lot to do. I'm sure you understand."

Wilson closed his eyes and waved his head slowly.

"Oh, I see." Tritter had a skeptical voice while "You suddenly really can't stop touching each other and have sex like rabbits. That's a new move, I've never seen this before in fake marriages. It seems trustworthy." His sarcasm sounded a bit dull, but his eyes were really inquisitive "When you had come to this hospital all these days in separate cars, I understand. That's a lot of effort to hide your sexuality. I may have to search for previous girlfriends." He closed the files he had in his hands "You know, I'm not homophobic, but I liked this job better when Defense of Marriage Act was in."

"Well, and I thank justice for  _United States vs. Windsor_ , so really non-homophobic thoughts like yours are meaningless now." Wilson stated, readily.

Raising his eyebrows, Tritter grinned in defiance, walking in their direction with files in his hands "Oh, your fiance did his homework. You two must be really trained for the interview by now." He looked at House, and then at Wilson again. "I'm not talking about the right of gays to be happy ever after. I'm just saying you can't imagine the crap I have gone through already. It's even easier two women to pretend they are married just to make the other stay in the country, for any reason. Friendship, job, money. Even for two men. There are plenty of wicked reasons. And everything that doesn't fit has the  _'we were in the closet'_  excuse" He shrugged, making Wilson swallow hard "But when I want, is the truth that really comes out."

House just stared hardly at the immigration agent, until that sentence. "I bet you're thinking this is our cue to fall on our knees and apologize for taking your precious time, and you'll leave us crying ashamed on the floor at our misery. How many times did it really work? You're trying to pressure us by showing you're confident, and you stare at your file as if there was really something compromising about us in there. But it's all useless. We're not lying about our relationship. I love him, he's all I've got, and you're not taking him from me. We are getting married. For real."

Tritter sighed theatrically, and looked at Wilson. "No one in your neighborhood has ever seen House there. You've been married three times, and each one of your ex-wives denied vehemently the possibility of you being homosexual. All the odds are against you. What did he promise to you? Money? A promotion? Or did he threatened you? Listen, I..." Tritter reached out his hand to touch Wilson's arm, as someone trying to pass security but also looking threatening. It was like watching a vulture flying too near of the ground, waiting for a moment of distraction to attack a little kitten.

House felt his blood boiling, and he needed all of his self-control not to punch the grey-haired man. "Don't you dare touching him, you bastard, I'd never..."

"What?" Tritter asked. "You'd never think of paying someone to fake a marriage and remain in the country instead of going back to the U.K. and your abusive maddened father? Your mother told me on the phone that he sometimes can't even recognize her. A very strong woman, to bear it alone." House just looked dumbstruck for a moment, clearly not believing he was actually hearing that.

"You.  _Shut. Up_." The last two words were marked by the two small steps Wilson gave in Tritter's direction - slightly to the side, unconsciously to be in front of House. He narrowed his eyes, and it was remarkable how then he wasn't a kitten with his fur bristled, but a lion roaring low. "I can't believe what I am hearing. What else do you got? What about my dead parents or my schizophrenic brother, how about that to your family trouble? Or your problem is only with him? Wrong move, Tritter, because he will be my husband, his family issues are my family issues, and if you got a problem with him, then you've got a problem with me, too." He held House's hand, still looking right at Tritter's face, without giving room for him to speak. "Do you want to know the truth? Of course this thing with the immigration turned our plans to a bunch of last minute trips, and of course we are doing everything recklessly. Yeah, we had a messed up past and a messed up relationship. Maybe we still have. But I was lost and I fell in love with him. He's all I've got, and we'll get married. That's your truth. We are living our lives, and all I expect is that you only do your job." House would be able to feel the slight trembling that took his hand for a moment. The speech was so heated that even in the time Wilson took a breath, no one of them said a word. "And if you don't, I'll make sure to send you the pictures of our wedding in the U.K." He was breathing hard, but his hands steadied.

House wasn't looking at Tritter anymore, but at Wilson. In the beginning he was willing to stop him, saying he didn't need defense, but as James' words sounded surer and stronger, he just listened. His heart seemed to contract harder, as if it had a limited space to beat inside his tightened chest and it needed to send the blood to all of his body somehow. It hurt but it still felt warm. Either Wilson was a great actor, or... he really meant it. It sounded like truth, every hissed word, and the hand in his was firm, despite its slight trembling due to rage.

Tritter had a flatness in his features that was even impressive. "Oh, you've come in his defense, how cute. Funny choice of roles, though. It was one of your conditions, to play the dominant and strong one?" There was a sick disdain in his tone, and House felt Wilson's grip on his hand become tighter. "If you can marry in England, I'm sure it won't be a problem when I sign the papers to send him back. Unless you go to jail for taking part in this, of course. Are you really intending to take this risk? When I confirm it is fake, you'll be alone in this."

"Funny how you still haven't said what you came here for. If it was for harassing us, I'll be glad to tell you to get the hell out of here." House said, finally breaking his silence.

"You're too rude and impolite for someone in your position." Tritter shook his head in disapproval, and handed them some papers. "These are the forms you must take to the interview, which will happen in a month. Until that, you can rehearse more of these little heartbreaking scenes, they are useless but fun." He smiled bitterly, and walked towards the door, getting out of the office.

Wilson looked down to the carpet. His eyes were concentrated and his voice was hushed, hoarse. "He's... in trouble." His hands slid out of House's grip slowly. "If he signs it because I can marry you somewhere else, the whole point of the deportation is missed." He gestured weakly, as if he was going to explain something, and shook his head "...You understand." He shrugged, lifting his head but still not raising his eyes to House. "You don't need to worry."

House looked at Wilson, and it reminded him of another moment the other didn't look him directly in the eyes also, but it was a whole another world. He felt heavy somehow, and worried Wilson could give up - not only on the marriage, but on him. "I know. He's just a son of a bitch, and together we're invincible." He shrugged, as if talking was pointless. "Let's... go back to work. But first, I need some 70% ethanol to disinfect my chair."

Wilson laughed weakly. "I don't think it will do, throw alcohol all over it and just set it on fire." He shrugged back, but it was painful to do so when there was the weight of the world in his shoulders. He ran his hand in the back of his neck, stepping aside, considering going to work. "Hey, Greg." He turned to House again and stepped in his direction. "I'm... with you, ok?" His hands grabbed weakly the other's T-shirt and he tried to stare right at him. "In joy and in sorrow, right, lovebird?" Again he seemed afraid to look in House's eyes, but the sweet playful tone was easier and so was his smile.

House smiled weakly too, and caressed Wilson's face hesitantly. "I know. Let's add  _'In truth and in lies'_  to our vows." He looked at the eyes that refused to stare at him for a moment, until he just sighed softly and closed his own. "May I kiss my fiance just as blindly as I put him into this madness?" He whispered, while his hands slid to Wilson's waist gently, opening his right eye to see the younger's reaction.

There was no answer in sounds; just Wilson's deep breath as his lips touched House's carefully. He lifted his arms to the other's shoulders, enlacing in the other's neck by holding his own elbows what felt like hanging in a higher branch not to fall from the waterfall, but only feeling sure enough that stream wouldn't ever be enough take him away, though never really knowing. He pressed his expanded chest against his, and the way it made him feel was like injecting a substance right into his brain, something he couldn't merely call serotonin, dopamine, oxytocin or whatever. Against his mouth, he would forget he was ever heavy, even when his heart ached in his chest. In the dark night of his closed eyes, he felt such a fool to avoid the clear morning of House's irises. When a sound in the outside made him sure that there was an outside, they broke the kiss. His fingers, when he was still hugging House that way, closed in a fist when he realized it was Tritter again, but he did nothing, staying there against House's body, inside his embrace.

There was a weird look in the agent's features, though he wasn't demonstrating any shock, disgust or annoyance and he entered the room still holding the doorknob. "There are these forms, too." He stretched himself in and left a thin red file in a closer desk, ready to just turn back to the door he didn't even stopped holding and go away at once.

The kiss had been so sweet that House didn't understand at first what made it end. Seeing Tritter was like being attacked in his safest place, and he really didn't want to argue again but was ready for it if needed. The agent seemed to be reconsidering his opinion for some seconds, but the glimpse House saw in his eyes had already faded by the time the files were placed over the desk. House looked back to Wilson's face, feeling a thousand times lighter, and this time he didn't smile - there was a touch of reverie in each one of his features, and he looked peaceful. There were too many things to think about, many of which he didn't want to think about. Every time one of the grim thoughts tried to take his attention, he just dismissed it and concentrated on Wilson. After kissing those lips softly again, he let go slowly of his waist, and only then he smiled. "He should have seen us earlier in the locker room, I bet he'd get really convinced."

"Oh, he would. He'd be traumatized for life and we were just getting started." There was that undefined ambiguity between cuteness and naughtiness in Wilson's expression as he laughed. He stepped back. "We have to decide some things about the trip, such as our leave, some crucial details of the wedding itself and the dinner." Wilson headed to the door, still looking at House. Before opening the door to go out the room, he grinned. "And we also have a lot of rehearsal to our honeymoon to be done tonight." he added, winking.

House gave him a half-smirk. "Let's go out to have dinner, then. I'll eat and nod while you talk non-stop about flower arranging and whether we should marry at morning or at the sunset with a trained dog to bring our rings. Then we go to my place or yours and fuck each other senseless until exhaustion." House leaned on his desk and rested both hands on its border, still smirking.

Wilson stopped by the door; his expression as if he was considering something really serious. "This is twice you say about the dogs, I think it is a repressed desire. I'll search for Labradors or Siberian huskies." He smirked for a second and kept on talking. "I have clinic duty until seven today, candy cane, but you can show up there for a kiss and some wandering hands before you leave. I'll pick you at nine in your place, what do you say?"

"I'll wear an old shirt just in case you feel like stopping somewhere in the way back, rosebud." House winked and reached out for a small bottle of alcohol on a shelf after the younger had left through the door.

The rest of the afternoon was spent discussing the case of a young boy who had lost vision in one eye in the middle of a school play. Wilson was always in his mind, but in a less urgent form, more like a reason to smile naughtily or softly once in a while. Taub commented about him changing his shirt, laughing, remembering Thirteen about the bet. "I've never accepted the bet." she said, smiling knowingly at House. He passed some times by the clinic but there was always some patient being attended by Wilson every time he opened the door. At some point, Cuddy walked to him and threatened him with clinic duty for a month if he didn't stop distracting Wilson. She had already obliged him to do so once, and he knew she wasn't kidding. Sighing, he went back to his office, planning on returning later.

By the end of his shift, he went there again to say goodbye to Wilson and the secretary threatened to call Cuddy. House then texted Wilson _"There's at least 7 snipers here aiming for my head."_  And then he sent another one, after some brief musings about asking Wilson to come out of the hospital and see him.  _"Guess I'll have to wait till nine. Don't you dare being late, brushing your hair once is enough."_  Putting his phone in his blazer pocket, he left the hospital.

 _"Brush my hair ONCE? Oh my god you never understand me."_  Wilson answered the text while the nurse was opening the door.  _"I'll be in time, cupcake, be ready."_

A soft voice rose slightly in the room. "It's a beautiful smile you have in there, Dr. Wilson." When Wilson raised his head, he saw the next patient coming in, an old woman Wilson already knew, showing a savvy countenance. He would call her by her name, as he does with all the patients, and this one would again talk about how sweet it was the features in his face, and he'd be slightly embarrassed.

The whole day had been weird for him, feelings would come and go as different - and yet foreseeable - as the patients one after another. He was worried and delighted, afraid and excited at the same time, and he wasn't able to eventually concentrate as he wished he could have done. Everything seemed just one step ahead of his touch, not only as if he couldn't touch, but that he was making sure he wouldn't let them touch him. He was getting surer, more as defiance, as the hours went on with a twisted speed. And so it was when the day of work was done, but at six, not at seven as he said. He needed a bit of time else.

He stopped once in the way to his own place, and all that time, his mind was gradually emptying from everything else but House. How addictive it was to be inside a particular paradise in which he could forget every threat, all his fears - nearly all of it. There was a bit of fear, when he made a choice for that night, but it was a breathtaking one. The silence was wider, the sound of the long shower he had to take hypnotizing him. As he looked at his own image in the mirror while he was getting ready, the wordless talk he had eye to eye with himself was convincing enough. He was feeling different -  _confident_ , like he was able to be the reason and the object of someone's unrestricted desire. Knowing he'd go all the way with everything could have frightened him that afternoon - but the other side of the meaning could be his to savor. His to try, his to dare. House had dragged him into this madness, yes, but no one was making him stay but himself. They were partners in crime, and it was funny that it wasn't a stupid metaphor, but a real concept. Could it be sexy as it sounded, too? Breathing steady and heavily for many reasons, he drove to House's place, a quarter to nine p.m. Hell, it could. It was like they crumbled down entire bridges each time, things regular relationships took months to, if they ever did. It was unbelievably hot and unbelievably powerful to let go entirely, and to have to trust blindly.


	11. I feel you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the morning of our love  
> It's just the dawning of our love
> 
> I feel you  
> Your precious soul  
> And I am whole
> 
> Depeche Mode, "I feel you"

Hearing the doorbell ringing, eight minutes earlier than combined, House smiled, finishing to unbutton his dark blue shirt. He opened the door and a stunningly looking Wilson was there, with one hand in his trousers' pockets and the other holding a small paper bag. It wasn't because of his clothes, though they were fine and well-cut, but because of something he couldn't quite capture well - it wasn't something to be defined, one could only see that smirk and the bright eyes and feel it boiling in every drop of his blood. House met him halfway for a quick kiss and walked in his sofa's direction, buttoning the cuffs over his wrists.

"I just need my blazer and we can leave..." He reached for the light-grey fabric over the sofa, ready to wear had closed the front door behind him and put the small bag in his pocket. When House gave his back to get his coat, he followed him precisely - when the other turned to the door again, he'd be already too close, close enough for them to have bumped into each other if the movements were a bit faster and Wilson hadn't hold the other's shoulders. The very avoiding of the impact made House lose a bit of his balance. As he needed to step back and lean his hand on the couch where he had just picked the coat, Wilson stepped forward, towards him with only resolute movements.

"How hungry are you now, Greg?" he placed his hands in the other's waist and murmured.

House looked a bit startled, but amused. "Well, it depends on what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking..." He let the tip of his nose touch House's, and then smirked, pulling his head back again" ...there's this Palestinian movie that had just been greatly awarded in Cannes. I'm so curious. I could cook us something, it mustn't take longer than three hours.

House raised his left eyebrow in disbelief. "I've stopped listening by the time you said 'Palestinian'." He straightened his posture, with an almost indignant look on his eyes. "Three hours, how can you say such a horrible thing, I thought we had something special."

Wilson couldn't hold back his laughter, tilting his head a bit forward. "Oh, it's a pity you didn't like my idea." His whole tone was playful, but it got more serious in the next sentence, slowly getting hoarser. "I'll have to go to plan B, then." He put his hand in his pocket, and the smirk left his lips, for his voice, more and more whispered, to become a low growl in the depths of their consciences. He picked a white tube and placed it inside the fingers of House's right hand, closing them by wrapping his own hand around the older's. Then he lifted his head. "I want you to fuck me, Gregory." The tip of their noses touched again, and in that pause of a breath, he left his mouth parted. "I want you to fuck me hard."

House caught his breath for a moment, feeling intensely aroused with Wilson's words. It was impossible not to. He could have seen it coming, maybe, but never that way, with those exact words, in that husky voice. He was paralyzed by desire, and that was a curious concept: instead of moving him, it made his brain freeze. Not for long. He let go of his coat, letting it fall on the sofa, and whispered against Wilson's lips. "Now, this is a much better plan." He could have asked a lot of things, Are you sure? being one of them. But there was no need. He could feel his sureness not only in the tone of the voice that reached his tympani but also on the steady hand holding his own. They knew each other pretty well by then, what was incredible by itself, and House knew Wilson could have said 'yes' it if he had asked for it - but he wouldn't ask, despite wanting it desperately. It had to come from Wilson, otherwise it would feel like just getting what he wanted when he wanted, too cold for the warm candlelight surrounding them to keep itself alive. It felt ten thousand times more significant coming from Wilson.

"Bedroom?" He said, with a low voice." Once I get my hands on you, I won't be able to let go." He added, the smell of Wilson's aftershave surrounding him, and he closed his eyes for a while, remaining on that soft touch of noses and skimming lips.

"L-Let's go, then." House's words made him about to shiver, and he loved it - he loved the idea of being in House's hands. There were questions in the air, indeed - he really felt like asking House to be careful; but if he really needed to ask that, to warn him, everything was quite wrong from the start. So he let the heart racing to have room to burst and, when he stepped behind, he held House's free hand and pulled him. It was weird he didn't even know the place that well and yet it was like he belonged with its owner, like he could see himself perfectly in many of the stories they had made for the federals to hear.

The bed was a step far from them and the light that was drawing the lines of the furniture in the dark bedroom came from the living room. It shadowed House's face, but somehow in that lack of light he smelled the other's perfume stronger - what could have been due to the deeper breaths he was taking. Turning to House again, his hands slid to the other's collar and he pressed their lips together. It was hesitant for a second before all that self-assurance that he was showing in the living room wore him again.

House thought of the useless effort of buttoning his shirt, of wearing clothes even - but he wanted to relish in each movement, with every piece of clothing falling on the floor. His hands held both sides of Wilson's face, pressing his cheeks lightly with his thumb, kissing him unhesitatingly, hungrily. Soon he had his fingertips over Wilson's ribs, on his lower back, on the waistband of his fancy pants. If the other were wearing a tie, he wouldn't be able to contain his will of tearing apart all those clothes - it reminded him too much of the hospital and work, and he wanted to see Wilson naked; using sweatpants, worn out T-shirts, socks of different colours. He wanted him all messed up, and completely free from any tension or anxiety that could try to touch his thoughts. But, fact was, Wilson was beautiful in every way. And in the end, it didn't matter what he was wearing or how was his hair. House could have laughed at how lost inside that feeling he was, in pure joy, but his tongue was touching Wilson's, and his breath was already short. Soon Wilson's shirt was on the floor, and House had his fingertips running over the bare skin of his back, upwards and downwards, as a kind of caress.

House was all over; it seemed those hands of the older's, against Wilson's bare skin and making it shiver, was another force entirely, whirling around the younger doctor. It was stealing the breath of his lungs in small quantities until not even all the oxygen in the room would do. His fingers unbuttoned House's shirt as well - he kissed his cheek, then his jaw, then his neck, breathing heavier beside his ear. Their kisses were better, their hands in each other's favorite spots throughout their chests were keener. They could call it chemistry or anything they wanted, but in the end it was really like it was an art and they had a talent. House was so much to find out, always, and each grip Wilson closed in his skin was more filled with wanting than the last one.

Leaving House's shirt open, for him to take it off, Wilson pulled him slightly by his waist in his direction as he stepped back and sat on the bed. He seized House's hipbones and kissed his lower abdomen, arching his back and tipping the fabric of his jeans, skimming his teeth on the crotch and rubbing slightly his nose on it, without loosening the button. Their minds could be already exploding, but they weren't really physically aroused yet. And it was amazing how shamelessly Wilson could do such things then, making excitement madly run up and down their spines in an exponential speed.

"You do love to tease, don't you?" The words came out of his mouth like growls, catching his breath in the pause, taking off his shirt and throwing it somewhere. His right hand ran over Wilson's hair, from under his left ear to the top of his head. His fingers were gentle, but his movements were passionate, and that ambiguity was also shown in his features: his eyes showed a deep desire while his lips twisted in the ghost of a smile. Each time their eyes locked in each other's felt like a very particular world, in which they've never learned to talk. House bent his body and pulled Wilson's head in his direction to kiss him one more time, while unbuttoning his own jeans and pushing it to his knees, what made them slid to his ankles. Stepping out of his shoes and his pants, he sit on the bed, leaning one hand over it, still kissing Wilson deeply.

Wilson's hands were colder than he wished when he touched House's skin, and he felt the brief tension in the muscles of his abdomen when he held his waist again. It took a moment inside those kisses for their temperatures to match - temperature which was rising, and he was feeling the heat they were exchanging, knowing soon enough it would turn to sweat.

One couldn't believe how tender his kisses could be, and hardly could Wilson. The meticulous touches, that would seem so alike his calculated and precise reasoning, but so accurately adjusted to him it could be said they were careful, and caring. Also the passionate movements, like there was an animal made of pure instincts in that perfectly reasonable self. Maybe there Wilson could find one of the infinite and indefinite reasons why he was... He even opened his eyes and stared at the wall with the thought that had taken over his mind, while House's lips and tongue were kissing his neck in a delicious way. Damn, he was. When he laid on the bed and House went upon his body, his hands pressed the other's ribs. Confess it, James. he dared himself in thoughts, letting loose his back in the mattress, as House's hands were unbuckling his belt. It won't hurt any more than not admitting would. It is not but obvious. House's hand held him over his underwear, firmly, making him hold his breath. In love, that's what you are, James. You can't stop thinking about him. You shiver just by remembering his touch, his kiss leaves you helpless and you are so sure he can make you come in ways that you are yet to discover, taking it only by the way he already can. Look at the bunch of crazy things you are doing, and look how you not even don't regret it, but how they are making you smirk now, like the world is yours to own. Wilson slowly licked his lips, breathing out completely, making his hands slid from the other's torso to his nape, to bring him closer for another kiss, filled with need.

House sometimes wished he could know what Wilson was thinking, the exact words, the wide landscape of his mind unraveled right before his eyes. That eagerness to know him entirely, knowing it would never be possible. Still, when he kissed those lips, when he could feel his chest going up and down faster, when Wilson's hands were pulling him close as fiercely as he could - that was enough for him. He knelt on the bed, almost losing balance for a second but standing still, with his weight on his good leg. Wilson's pants and underwear were slowly taken off, and as the younger freed his ankles from the fabric, House took off his own boxers. Laying on his side, he ran his fingers over Wilson's body, looking at his face, until the other pulled him in for another kiss. His hand went back to Wilson's groin, touching him progressively and without rush. It seemed they had always went too fast, too directly at the point, too eager for release. Wilson had said "I want you to fuck me" with such confidence that he felt himself being consumed by lust; still he wanted to please Wilson, to make him feel his significance, how important he had become to House. It wasn't just about himself, but mostly about James Wilson, and how he deserved all the fondness he could express mixed with that dull need possessing his body.

Breathing in gasps, Wilson rolled his eyes and leaned on his feet to lift slightly his hips, as if his body was contorting in the known sweet agony. Their kisses were starting, as expected, to turn heat to sweat, just the beginning. Nothing was raging yet, but it was like a fire spreading low, but quickly, throughout the whole field, before the flames swallowed up everything. His fingers held House's arm, involuntarily grasping in the same rhythm he was being touched, or how he wanted to be touched - soon it became the same thing. As his foot slipped, he let his body loose release in the mattress.

"I want it..." he whispered, ghostly, faintly, as his breath was louder and purred. It wasn't a request, neither an order. It was an statement of his drifting mind. He wanted it before he was too aroused to want anything but to increase the feeling burning in his groin. Closing his eyes, his hands wandered to House's neck, his fingers following by heart the lines of his shoulder, his clavicle, his throat. His fingertips touched his chin, and, while they stroke House's lips,and Wilson half-opened his eyelids. "How should we..." there was an entire question in the end, but it died while he breathed through his parted mouth and looked directly at House's eyes. The corner of his mouth lifted itself for a second before he closed his eyes in pleasure and arousal again, licking his lips to moisten them. "I want you. I mean it." He was sure he could be read, and, if he couldn't, he'd make House know it he wasn't doing anything for any reason but that. He wasn't willing to do that only to please House, though that idea was arousing and satisfying by itself. It wasn't because he owed him something, or because he was supposed to. All of that may or may not be true, it wasn't the point. The point was, he wanted it.

"And I want you." There wasn't any need for saying that; he was sure it was obvious by now. But nothing was obvious, and everything hid a surprise. Smirking, he pressed another kiss on Wilson's lips, but gradually stopped touching him. Reaching for the small bottle of lube he had left mindlessly over the nightstand, House felt excitement filling him already, running through his blood to each one of his muscles. He wasn't completely hard yet, but there was time for that. He laid over the bed on his side again, and started placing kisses over Wilson's neck, shoulders; until he was kissing the side of his arm, pulling it gently to the side to indicate he should turn on the mattress. Once Wilson was on his side too, House approached him from behind to go on kissing the skin of his back, passing an arm around his waist, pressing his chest with his fingertips. He planted open-mouthed kisses where he found freckles, and close-mouthed over the plain skin, smiling to himself and wondering how long it would take for Wilson to notice what he was doing. House rubbed his hips against the other, catching his breath, and soon he was on top of Wilson laying prone, licking the skin of his neck and sucking it at times. Leaning on his elbow, he opened the lube bottle and covered his fingers with it, hoping it would be enough. His thumb, which was dry unlike the other fingers, ran downwards Wilson's spine, as the other had done to him in that rainy night, taking a shower in an unknown bathroom in Connecticut. He paid attention to every little reaction, and his touches were firm and yet careful.

Wilson would find it better that House couldn't see his face by then. He wasn't regretting anything, but one could interpret that by the expression in his face, both as a reaction and as fear. No, it wasn't aching. Well, maybe it was, but he had to remember himself that fright and tense muscles would ruin everything, though - and obliging himself to relax otherwise he would feel huge pain wasn't exactly the most relaxing thought of all. Being that vulnerable was unavoidably making him retract his shoulders and close his hands in fists. It was that amount of concentration that was making his breath faster and more shallow all of a sudden, not directly connected with arousal, and it seemed House had noticed it. His kisses in his neck turned more intense, while his hand just wished he could tell himself to stop taking it as a weird, periling sensation when he actually wanted it, but he decided to stop trying to logic himself into it. He decided for the best thing to do - feel it. That was the best concentration he could have. What was he actually feeling, was it pleasant by itself? House was kissing his nape and between his shoulder blades, and in each kiss he felt everything less jeopardizing, turning said risks into those cocktails of hormones maddening his body. Wilson's breath was louder and he grabbed the pillow under his head, clenching his fingers in it. He remembered the moment under the hot water, in which House was moaning while he had his fingers inside him. He buried his face in the pillow, holding his breath. No, it wasn't hurting. Oh, no, really no. It was... Wilson bent one knee just a bit, enough for his back to arch and his hips to lift, moving towards House's hand, and he moaned loud, a sound muffled by the pillow.

House felt the resistance of Wilson's muscles in letting his finger enter, and gave him some time to adjust. Each time he felt Wilson was ready, due to a change in his breath or how he relaxed his body, House pressed his finger a bit further, and he went on like that until he had two fingers inside Wilson. The other seemed to be fighting against his own will to just let it happen, and House wondered whether more lube would make it feel more comfortable. He waited a longer time to move his hand again, to be sure Wilson was alright, always kissing the skin he had before his eyes, at mouth reach. It was another level of involvement: he was responsible not only for Wilson's pleasure but for the minimum of pain caused, too. He was paying attention to every change of texture and topography on that warm tissue, trying to picture in his mind how deep he was inside of Wilson, until two things happened, and he couldn't tell what happened first: he felt the slight bulge he was looking for, while Wilson moved his hips and whined with his face hidden on the bluish pillow. House grinned triumphantly, knowing he could make Wilson come with a prostate massage alone. There was a feeling of pride and power in being able to satisfy him in so many ways, just as strong as the need he felt for more than having just his fingers massaging Wilson on the inside. House stretched his arm to take hold of a cushion, and placed it under Wilson's hips, lifting just enough for him to have better access to the right point. When he was sure it would be okay to finally do that, he took his fingers out of Wilson, and reached for the lube bottle he had left over the bed. His breath was short in anticipation, and he covered his erection with the gel, moaning softly while he gave small thrusts for it to be as hard as possible. He added some more lube to his fingers to apply, imagining how slick it could feel for the other. But those thoughts were hummingbird heartbeats, lasting for much less than a second when he had hormones for brains. Kissing Wilson's nape, he whispered, with his hips still lifted slightly in the air as he held his erection in place." James... ?" It sounded more like a moan than an attempt of a question. There wasn't anything he could say but his name.

Breathing heavily through his teeth, he leaned in his elbows and turned his face as he could, to look at House. "Yes." He said it even before his eyes found House's. His mouth said yes and his body said yes, as his muscles weren't contracting or tense, he was hard against that cushion and the pleasure, he was dazed from the sensations in so many levels and places he wouldn't had the slightest idea inside his body. Sure he could tell the name of an compound tubuloalveolar exocrine gland in his reproductive system, but no description of its sensibility in any book would have him ready for how he felt sight darken when House was touching it and stimulating it. And it wasn't only - everything in the idea of inside him, from the textures to muscles and veins throbbing was overwhelming. He was already fiery, listening to his own steaming breath, his boiling blood. Leaving himself completely free to feel it, he couldn't say but a yes, to see how far that new sensations could go. Even if he had, then, thought about how his acceptance and how it all could mean something much... - well, bigger, in all senses - he couldn't have time to process it.

His mouth opened almost perfectly coordinated with the steady movement forward of House's hips. His lips parted more and more each centimeter House was filling him - it felt that literal. Like that sensation was spreading heat through his spine, to his limbs, to his hard-on, and ended up blowing up his head. Like the lube-covered hand grabbing his bottom was branding itself with fire against his skin. Minus the pain. If he was feeling some, it was lost between thousands of things that he just wasn't able to take. Things his brain was missing and calling itself unable to process - he just desperately held the sheets and his whole body expanded as he breathed in whining. When House stopped that movement - of encasing, invading, inserting, whatever, Wilson's brain had denied him the understanding once again - the younger held that breath. He had no idea how far it had reached inside him, because at the same time it felt like too much and too little. His next moan, when he breathed out, was less mistakable for a suffering one, and he closed his eyes.

House held Wilson's bottom in place with both hands, pushing himself against him until stopping halfway. Maybe he had gone too fast, but it was too late already, and it felt amazing. Really tight, and that could be what reminded him to stop, go slow. Breathing was just as hard as each time they had sex, and it felt even harder as he craved for more heat, more pressure. Wilson's moan had been hungry, but House felt like a starving man. He exhaled the air all at once, and it vibrated on his vocal chords - the result was a short and loud growl, unrestrained, helpless. He kept his left hand on Wilson's hips, and the right hand moved upwards, to rest in his shoulder and to make it easier for him to thrust. Their feverish skins were melting over one another and when House moved his hips out and in again, a bit deeper than before, his chest slid in the thin layer of sweat over Wilson's back. House tried to coordinate his moves so Wilson's groin would be rubbing against the cushion, and there was so much to control, so much to think about, and his egotistical brain seemed to be interested just in how hard he could do it, how deep he could go, how fast. The intense sensation made him swear once, because it just felt too good, and every complicated word had disappeared. By the time he was all he could inside of Wilson, low moans were escaping from his throat, following the same rhythm of his movements - he pushed himself in at the same time he pulled Wilson to him. His eyes closed automatically as he bit softly (or as softly as he could) on the edge of Wilson's neck to his shoulder – he knew that soon he wouldn't able to close his mouth for more than three seconds, with his lungs disobeying his wills in order to keep him alive.

The first whimpers, Wilson tried to hold by placing his hand over his own mouth - not that he actually felt like stopping any reaction of his, but that was a reaction by itself, and he couldn't answer why. There was no why in the world. Thing was, he bit his own fingers once before his hands were leaning on the mattress again. Again, there was no why. Each time House shoved himself inside him again, his nerves went berserk and his responses cluttered, deranged, and he found himself punching the mattress, trying to hold somewhere in the plain headboard, rolling his eyes or shutting them, opening his mouth or clenching his jaw. When the movements changed from the trying, carefully daring pushes to the repeated shoving, he felt like he was being demolished when House went out and reconstructed when he buried again, or the opposite. Each time he was hit deep inside, in a sensation that exploded to his loins, and each time the hipbones pressed against his bottom, he tried to realize if it was pain or not. Because he couldn't take it, he really couldn't, each thrust was too much, and he'd beg House to stop, but at the moment the hips retreated he was already yearning, dying for the next one, for when he would be demolished, whacked again. House bit his shoulders and he tried to hold his head beside his, running the fingers through his hair. As House's lips placed incoherent kisses in his neck, he leaned in his elbows. He didn't had voice to utter the profanity his lips drew only, when he was being desecrated again and again, into something that they could both sacralize.

House could bang him recklessly and carelessly, he could do anything, because Wilson's body there was completely his, no holding back, for so as he wished. However, consciously or not, the older doctor was following the rate of the younger's breath, and surprisingly, there were limits in the borderless land. But it didn't mean there were brakes. It came to a point in which Wilson was still twitching and trembling from the last thrust when once again he was stuck deep - House wasn't letting him recover, and among the haze and the dizziness, Wilson wished he would never do. There, he knew he would whirl out of himself due to the pleasure. And either he pushed his hips forward, to rub against the already moistened cushion, or he pushed himself back, against House - and of course he'd go towards House, towards that unnamed, undefined sensation, that couldn't really be called pleasure, but a vortex, a hurricane, raging fire with blinding smoke. Wilson found himself on his knees, his arms still leaning on the mattress, his forehead leaning on the sheets. In that position, his sweat was draining from his neck to his jaw,and House's hands were yanking him against his hips. Didn't he ask to to be fucked hard? Well, he was.

They had been a warm night under a blanket, they had been a bonfire illuminating the darkness and warming up their hearts. In thatvery moment, they were a firestorm. Every noise that came out of Wilson's mouth was another inflammable material being thrown into that fire, and House would let it consume him gladly. Every time he grasped the sheets or punched the mattress, every time he moved his hips in House's direction, it was almost too exciting to be real, high quality pornography being printed on his eyelids, staining his skin, burning his senses. He wanted to hear more of those noises, to lead Wilson to exhaustion, to make his mind explode in white light and his body collapse in white heat like his own body was about to do. He felt the muscles contracting around him harder each time, and he knew Wilson was close but not as close as he was. Their short breaths were a whole concerto filling the room, and the air vibrated against their skins, on the walls, for the whole street to hear. When Wilson got on all fours, House felt too messy a sensation, that made him forget about any concrete or abstract matters that couldn't be solved in that room. They did contained a whole universe made of them both and that moment. And not for the first time,it felt too beautiful to be understood, too magnificent to show its beauty from the outside. Where there were only wrinkled sheets, sweaty skin and a scene quite lubricious, one had to be on the inside to really appreciate it fully, under their skins, seeing with their eyes. House thrust harder when it seemed there wasn't a harder, and he was too close. Adjusting his own position to Wilson's, he was almost kneeling on the bed, and one of his hands reached for the other man's erection, to touch like he was touching himself, in the best way he could when his hips were moving in that mad rhythm. Fact was, he couldn't even tell which sounds came from him and which came from Wilson.

The next movements were a bit truncated. Wilson couldn't take that hand off of his erection, but it was unavoidably getting in the way of their rhythm. The position wasn't the most comfortable for both either, but it lasted the time needed for it to print its indecency in their brains, like there was always something else dirtier to spread throughout their overexcited, marvelously aroused minds to which there was no refrain. They shagged like lovers and like animals, House did him like a fiance and like a whore.

J-just..." He leaned in one forearm, which started trembling, while the other hand held House's. For a moment, it only held the other's. His legs were open wider as his knees were slipping and he bent one of them slowly, taking House's hand off of him."Oh, god, Greg, just..." 'faster', he didn't know if he whispered it or not, because he wouldn't ask, for he had no idea how their bodies were even taking it to that point. That speed, that depth, that amount of fever and sweat and lack of oxygenation. "don't stop-... for... nothing." Then he knew he said out loud, because he smirked as he noticed the words would only come out between thrusts, otherwise they'd lose voice or strangle in moans. It was needless to say, but he didn't know what he was saying, or what he was doing, and neither could House answer. Wilson's body was responding by itself, in those same spasms. Don't stop for anything in this entire fucking world, he'd complete. When he laid on the bed again, feeling the cold sheets in his wet chest, House slipped out of his body for one second - to freeze him with the sudden emptiness and to melt him completely in the following thrust, when he whimpered once more. "Don't stop 'till I'm screaming" he mumbled again, without having the slightest idea of what was coming out of his mouth.

With him laying, then, House's movements against his body were steadier and he made as hypnotic as it was needed. The older's deliberated moans warned him how helplessly close to the edge he was, now that he wasn't leaning in his knees and had that freckled, dripping wet back against his chest. He really wasn't stopping, and he couldn't be shoving any harder within their limits, and he was once again perfectly bringing him along with his pleasure. And Wilson reached it, as it was happening in another level of existence, but it wasn't an orgasm as he knew. Not better or worse, only undoubtedly more intense, like all of the stormy, raging, devastating pleasure he felt was altogether with all the moments he felt like he couldn't take it, because it was too strong, too sensitive, too deep, too hard, too much. Although he said about screaming, his scratched voice just went out in the end of the breath, and no one would doubt that he would be screaming if he could, but he wasn't, and he couldn't. His body contorted, his fingers pulled the sheets as if he was nailing the mattress to rip it had him the strength, and his spine arched like he wanted to burst out his skin. It wasn't like ejaculating, but it didn't mean it wasn't a climax - because, damn, he was coming so hard he couldn't believe.

They were too high to care about what could go wrong when everything's never felt so right – any mistake would just blend inside that much greater sensation and be forgotten. Any other reality out of that one would just look as artificial as plastic jewelry, and even if Wilson hadn't asked, House wouldn't stop until there wasn't any other way. The movements were easier, Wilson's words - "Don't stop", "faster", "more", all the swearing - sounded like coming from his own head, muffled sounds among those deliciously fleshly noises made with each thrust. The body under his own collapsed, and a short and loud cry filled the room; but he didn't care about sounds or visions, all it mattered was that sensation of being pulled by a much greater force until his senses exploded and his eyes shut automatically, buried deep inside of Wilson. Once Wilson had come his brain could go back to being self-centered in his own pleasure, and he gave in to it without any hesitation. His back arched and his head bent backwards, while release felt more like breaking down. When the air left his lungs in what could be described as a howl, he let his body fall over Wilson's with his hands still in his hips, breathing hard beside his ear. His head was light and he was sure that, if he opened his eyes, his vision would be blurred - but those were usual physical responses to something he couldn't just classify with mere adjectives.

The feverish skin against his chest was trembling and he himself was trembling, the world itself could have turned into an earthquake and he wouldn't be able to tell. His hands ran over Wilson's skin until he was holding the other shoulders, still panting but less desperately. Placing a single kiss on Wilson's neck, House pulled himself out slowly, remembering the sensation of emptiness that possessed him in that shower when Wilson did the same thing. He laid beside Wilson, boneless, and finally opened his eyes to ceiling. Smiling, he turned his head to his lover, and their eyes locked with the same exhausted look. House changed his position to lie on his side and placed his hand over Wilson's back, caressing it languidly, still wearing that stupid smile.

While House's hand was sliding in his sweaty back, he blinked slowly, and his smile steadied as he was seeing clearer. In the beginning, he couldn't quite see House perfectly, because he was really dizzy and his sight was really blurred - it was more than a metaphor. He was really dazed, trembling, numbed, since his blood pressure, his breath rate and his heartbeats went nuts. He mirrored the other's smile just instinctively, that weak trembling of lips. He leaned in his hand, just to turn on the bed, but only that small strength already made his bones shudder and his body shake until he plummeted his body in the bed. When he was looking at the ceiling, all the strained muscles and overloaded functions were slowly and faintly trying to go back to normality, making the world steadier and realer, but he was sure he just wouldn't ever recover. What was spurted two or three unequal times inside his body was draining warm and off of him, pretty much as all the vitality and energy his brain recklessly and viciously granted him without caring if he would just go into short-circuit and blackout When that numbness was taking him over like a quicksand and the afterglow would darken his sight gradually, though it was really glowing - lights were stronger, even the shine in House's eyes.

He closed his eyes, only one thread still keeping him tied to consciousness. He wasn't afraid of the pain, but it was like his mind wouldn't stop boiling in his skull. He started mumbling, like he couldn't help it. "You... I know I don't need to say this, and I shouldn't say a word, but wha-what- It... was my first time and we fucked like we already, like I were, l-like... I mean,not that there isn't pain, but I never- I- because you-" Each time he tried to say something coherent, every short sentence was too long for his faltering breath, and there was power cut in the electricity of his synapses. "Oh, I'll shut up. I..." He pressed his eyes with his hands, his fingertips in his hair, still panting. "I need... I'll get some water." But he remained laying there, as if his body wasn't responding, and his fingers slid to his hair before his elbows dropped to the mattress again, and those hands fell over his own chest.

He had been entirely for House to do, to hit and to use, to wreck him if he wanted to. Imagine what one would say if he trusted Gregory House - Gregory House - not to hurt him. That he needed him not to be cold and selfish, to worry and to care. But no one else belonged inside there but them both, and he had the best reward he could imagine for that - for all that, since the beginning. He could be exaggerating then, he could be overwhelmed, he could, but something that powerful from the start wouldn't be but worth it. As surrendering as he had been to House's body, he was to that thought that came to him before, the confession he made to himself. If that feeling hit him again, he would be more than defenseless. He was open armed and he couldn't fight. Sinking in that vertigo, he didn't want to.

House frowned slightly and rested on his elbow, to look right at Wilson. He didn't understand, and he wouldn't even give importance to Wilson's babbling if the possibility didn't exist. Resting the palm of his hand over Wilson's ribs, he came closer, to look him in the eyes. "I'll get you some water. But if I hurt you... Well, I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it but... you know."

"No, no, no." He shook his head. /No, I mean, that's what I am saying. "Wasn't it supposed to hurt?" he frowned intrigued, and he didn't mean it to sound so naive - he wasn't even thinking it that naively, but it came out this way. He just shook his head slowly again. "Yet we-" he chuckled "we screwed like animals there. No, you- you didn't hurt me, not at all. It-It was..." he blinked slowly and licked his lips, leaving the sentence unsaid again.

House smiled knowingly, and pressed his lips against Wilson's. He loved to see him dazed just like he loved to see him concentrated and confident; he loved the way he looked helpless just as much as he loved to see him strong. He loved how Wilson behaved near him in public, and how their sham commitment had led them to a point where it wasn't that fake anymore, much less fake. He loved how Wilson seemed to trust him so much, and how he defended him from Tritter earlier without making him feel weaker than he already felt in the moment. He loved how easy it was to talk to him and how easy it was not to talk; how Wilson respected his space and how he pushed him when necessary, all out of worry. Yes, Wilson always cared about everything, and he cared about House too - and despite it sounding a lot less romantic and all that television bullshit. it was just as touching as a love letter. More touching than a love letter, he'd say. All the little things he did for him with that smile upon his face, that beautiful wide smile that was worth everything. All those ridiculous signs of affection all over his body language. If that was love, passion or mere friends with benefits, it was fine. More than fine. To have Wilson around was amazing, to have him making plans that included House was amazing. With that thought, and a sudden glimpse of what could be the way he pictured their wedding, he sit on the bed to keep his balance, and slid his hand off of Wilson's chest to go to the kitchen and bring him the water.

Wilson reached out for House's wrist, to stop him from getting up. When House looked back at him , his fingers slid to the other's hand. "Please, would you... kiss me again?" Even the breathless way he said it would tell he could hardly take any deeper kiss - but it seemed he had never cared, and he wouldn't start then. Again his body would go until the collapse if needed, just because he wanted to death anything more of Gregory in that moment.

House stared at that unbelievable man, parting his lips for a while before smiling again, softly. So it would be like that every time Wilson showed feelings for him? It seemed House was the ridiculous fool, after all. There, it felt good. It was good to allow himself to be a fool for Wilson. He bent his torso and touched those lips with his thumb, admiring its thin shape and its subtle touch of red over the white skin. Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips against Wilson's, again, and it was sweet in a twisted form of vengeance - it was slow and gentle, lovingly and delicate; a sweetness that was supposed to hurt so deep it left marks. A vengeance for making him fall in love when he wasn't looking for it anymore, if he ever did. For being nice and charming, for being completely impossible and insufferably soft-hearted at times, and for letting him see all the beauty contained in James Wilson - the real beauty, under the permanent layer of sympathy and kindness. The beauty and majesty of a waterfall hidden in the middle of a forest, with its mirror-like waters reflecting the shine of the sun.

It was that wrathfully gentle kiss that had hurt the most, in the end - and, again, Wilson was lost in the concept of what was aching. Maybe he would need to re-learn about pain. Maybe go back to his books, just go back to college, but they would all tell him about an unpleasant sensory and emotional experience. But, try to break the feeling to its reasonable answer and he'd lose the best of it. And, as his trembling fingers reached for House's face and neck, fingertips sliding in the wet skin, he was sinking in ambiguity, and things weren't simple as they were in college - and he always thought it was so complicated to learn about all the systems, organs, fluids, muscles and bones, each one of the diseases, the side effects and the reactions. Complicated was feeling like House was punishing him for trusting him that much with nothing but more trust. Or that the other was so furious to be worth of that much desire and care that he'd show desire and care twice as much, as a stubborn child who can't lose. It was like he'd punch any feeling that might be blossoming in his own chest back in Wilson's chest with the violence of his relentlessly cherishing kisses.

When House separated their mouths and he found himself smiling again, he knew that those complications were, in fact, able to make his life ridiculously simpler. But he couldn't think any more about it any longer, in the state he was in. He just... he needed to sleep. He needed to clean himself, he was thirsty and needed to wait for House to come back with the glass of water, but his body would decide it for him. He let himself blink a few seconds more, and he fell asleep all at once.

House filled a glass with water for himself and drank it right there, with the refrigerator's door still open. The cold air touching his sweaty skin made him shiver, and it felt good too - he stared at the window for a while and there was nothing to see but the street lights. He smiled and filled the glass again, and walked back to his bedroom, limping weakly as his leg felt rigid due to the effort. "You know what, I think I..." He stepped into the bedroom and raised his eyes for the man lying over it, with his mouth slightly open and closed eyes; so deeply asleep that House couldn't even be certain about how much time he had spent on the kitchen.

Smiling quietly to himself, he placed the glass over the nightstand and covered it with a thin paper tissue. After placing a soft kiss over Wilson's forehead, he laid down pulling the covers over them. They could (and certainly would) share a bath in the morning, and he decided to wait for Wilson to wake up. It would be undeniably fun to see the wonder boy, always so tidy, waking up covered in dry body fluids. "Good night, James." He whispered low, only for himself to hear it, for absolutely no reason. Maybe it just felt good to acknowledge once more that they'd sleep side by side again, and it would still be like that when he woke up. Closing his eyes, between musings and random images that somnolence created in his mind, he fell asleep slowly, letting the exhaustion take over him.


	12. Naked as we Came

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Eyes wide open, naked as we came  
> One will spread our ashes round the yard"
> 
> Iron & Wine, "Naked as We Came"

Wilson opened his eyelids to an unknown hour in the night. He opened them hardly, painfully, as if there was a layer of sand in his eyeballs. He had to blink several times until he was seeing clearer, and that was when he looked at the window and saw the dim lights of the dawn. He was so sleepy it took him a second to remember where he was and why he was, and everything about it all fell over him like an avalanche. When he tried to move on the bed, he'd see the other part of that comparison - his muscles were aching for him to easily think that he was whelmed under heavy rocks. Everything around him and in him was a mess, his skin was sticky, his body was aching, his memories were boiling and he saw the figure of House sleeping deeply by his side.

He couldn't decide what he should do first and just laughed quietly, waving his head slowly in a joyful astonishment. There was an arm of House entwined with his, though he wasn't holding him, as if just to keep the touch. He sought for the other's hand, to hold it briefly, as he breathed in deeply, the laughter turned into a smile and he closed his eyes in a slower blink. It seemed it had been so long since the last time he woke up by his side - it felt like it was the first and he wished hard every one of the possible following ones. As he was feeling his mouth dry, he looked to the other side and saw the glass of water by the nightstand. He sat down with difficulty, aware of each muscle in his body, as they were all reminding him of their existence by throbbing under his smeared skin.

House felt the weight change on the bed and his arm being uncovered - he wasn't that asleep. Frowning and opening his eyes slowly, he turned his head to the side, where Wilson was bent over the nightstand drinking water, as he could tell from the swallowing noises. House stared longingly at his back, smirking, and when he finally talked his voice was hoarse from sleep.

"What a beautiful view to have in the morning. And I think we're way past the phase where I pretend I'm talking about your strong shoulders or your adorable little freckles." House had rested on his elbow, turning on his side to look more comfortably at Wilson. "Especially after that part when you were in all fours under me, so shamelessly, and whining so loud... Asking me to never stop..."

Wilson chuckled, placing the glass in the nightstand and turning to sit, all in slow movements. Probably much of that would get better when he got up and walked a bit, but by then he was entirely tense. "Good morning for you, too, sunshine." He looked at House's eyes, smirking. He was really so comfortable to talk about anything with him. "You got to fuck me once and you already lose all the romanticism, oh, I  _knew_  this is what it was all about, everyone tried to warn me." he faked an indignant face. "You said you'd marry me and that you loved the way my eyes shine, but it was all to spread my legs" He crossed his arms. "You'll run away now and leave me pregnant."

House raised his eyebrow. "Baby, I didn't obliged you to stay on all fours. Or bring lube and tell me with all words  _I want you to fuck me, Gregory, I want you to fuck me hard_." In a poor imitation of Wilson's voice, he played along. "And you won't get pregnant, that's why there's the morning-after pill. Unless... You're just interested in my money." He looked away, as if realizing something that should be obvious. "How could I have missed that? All you wanted was a big diamond in a ring to show to your nurse friends. And I was thinking you were really into older men."

"I just wanted a dream trip to Vermont, papi. A girl always dreams on walking on the aisle." He laughed weakly.

"Everything to my Lolita, light of my life, fire in my loins." House smirked, sitting on the bed.

"I'm already a senior in this said dreamy play, though." Wilson uncrossed his arms and grimaced at his own sticky skin. "God, I need a shower. You can join me, but this is so not an invite as last night's, I'm worn out. You might have to lend me your cane."

After stretching his arms and yawning, House moved to the edge of the bed, to get up slowly and hold Wilson's hand. "Come on, let's share a bath. And I promise it'll be just that, I won't try to take advantage of my poor beloved nymphet."

Wilson snorted, like in a restrained laughter at the last word, a bit more than only for its meaning in the moment, as if reminded him of something. "I really pictured myself with heart-shaped glasses sucking on a lollipop." He got up slowly, smirking, and they started to walk to the bathroom. "We need to talk about those kinks. I promise I'll try to remain open-minded." He chuckled, holding tighter House's hand. As he walked, he noticed he was strained, but not hurt, and he breathed deeply. Moistening his lips, he ran his free hand through his face and his hair, moving his shoulders in circles.

"I won't ask you to wear lacy panties or lipstick, you don't need to worry about that. I don't need fantasies. It's... nice to have something real." House let go of Wilson's hand without looking at him and stopped near the bathtub, to turn the faucets, and soon the sound of water falling filled the place. He let his hand touch the water, just to feel its warmth and then looked at Wilson again, leaning on the wall. "What kind of fantasies do you have, James? I'm curious."

"Oh, I was expecting you'd say something about the nasty Prince Charming thing." Wilson laughed low, walking to the sink. "No, not really. I really don't like this, at least so far. My mind blocks the sensuality of any sort of role-play and this stuff, it's a turn off for me and I can't see this changing. Other things, though, I don't know... I think the whole thing we have works for me as a fantasy." He looked at House through the mirror reflection, then lowered his head to try to find his own toothbrush and the toothpaste. "This is entirely new for me, and everything my imagination reaches, as simple as it could be, is a fantasy." he smirked. While the sound of the bathtub being slowly filled up and the hot water started to moisten the air, he placed the toothbrush in his mouth, to occupy his mouth and give him time to not talk and think it through. The toothbrush he had brought for the engagement play to seem more real, and there he was, actually waking up with House in the next morning after a mind-blowing night of sex.

As Wilson looked at his own image and, as he started brushing his teeth, he turned slightly to check for hickies and bite marks in his shoulders. House grinned, looking automatically at the water level as the sounds changed. "Come on, you aren't that marked. You've left at least twice more marks on my back at our first time." There was still half of the bathtub to be filled, and he walked closer to the sink to pick his own toothbrush. "Look at us, how cute." Smiling, he started to brush his teeth too, looking at their reflection in the mirror. House raised his eyebrows and then winked at Wilson, soon spitting the toothpaste and washing his mouth almost at the same time the other decided to do so.

When House turned his back, walking to the bathtub and turning off the faucets, Wilson looked at his nape and smirked. "I can still see them." He walked to him and reached out for his waist. His fingertips drew a line around his shoulder blades and he caressed the hickie on the other's shoulder with his thumb. "And sorry about it. It all must've hurt." his voice was less sorry and more purred, though. "It's a poor excuse, but I'd like to say again that you really drive me crazy." he kissed softly the mark in the skin.

"Is someone changing his mind about it being 'just a bath', perhaps?" House turned his head to look over his shoulder, smiling suggestively.

"I wouldn't say I don't  _want_  it, but my body needs a break." Wilson smiled back, corresponding to that look on the corner of House's eye. He didn't deny vehemently, but the kiss he left in the other's shoulder was soft, and he stepped inside the warm water. "But I like to see that you are willing to. There are still plenty of those fantasies I said before to be fulfilled." he winked, bending to the side to hold in the bathtub, and he grimaced as his movements demanded some care to sit down, what eventually led him to laugh weakly.

House sit on the other end of the bathtub, careful only not to fall; it was his home after all, and he felt more sure about the floor, the furniture and the space of his bathtub. The water was almost too hot, but it felt good and he even let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes, for a moment.

"Feel like having some bubbles in our bath, sweet pea? If so, I'm sure there's a bottle of liquid bubble bath somewhere, I guess it smells slightly of lavender." House then opened his eyes, looking totally relaxed, and threw some water to his face and hair, wiping the excess with his hands. Putting an arm over the bathtub border, he smiled not only to Wilson but to the entire scene of them both sharing a bath in the morning of a workday, totally detached from that far away reality of the hospital. "Come here, I can rub your back for a few kisses."

Smirking, Wilson leaned his hands in the bathtub and inched towards House, his arms faltering for a moment. He knelt and slid his fingers throughout the border until his wrists were beside both sides of House's shoulders. He stared in his eyes for a moment before deviating the look to the other's mouth, kissing him afterwards. He kept it calm and chaste, but somehow it was unavoidable for their bodies to feel the intensity running inside their bones when their lips were sealed together. He separated their faces and looked down, trying to calculate the best way to fit between House's legs there. He carefully sat down again, his back to House's chest, breathing in deeply as he would let his body relax in the warm water and inside the other's arms. "You know, you don't need to pretend you don't use your fancy liquid bubble bath. It's at the reach of your hand there."

"Oh no, you've found out. Oh, the shame." House reached for a blue bottle and let some of its content fall in the water, the lavender's smell reaching his nostrils quickly. Putting the bottle back in place, he wrapped one of his arms on Wilson's torso, with his hand leaning on his waist, while the other went back to the bathtub's border. "But it's really been a while. Guess I wasn't in the mood for it." He started to caress Wilson's torso gently with his wet hand, leaving some small bubbles over his skin. "Besides, I couldn't just walk in the hospital smelling like lavender, everyone would find out about my secret interest in swords and pistols."

Wilson let his body slid a little, breathing out strongly and closing his eyes, as he leaned his head in House's shoulder. "They hardly would. I use body moisturizer and some people were still surprised. Only if you were afraid that Chase would jump you if he smelled the chance that you might like the thing."

The joke was really innocuous at first, but made him immediately cogitate what would be like if it was any other doctor, even if not his subordinates, who had entered in Cuddy's office in that day, in that exact moment, when Michael Tritter was there. Would he or she had helped House? How it could have turned out for all of them? It was a thought of one second, but it made him chuckle quietly, not at the joke he made, but at the fate he found. His left hand slid to House's hand around him, caressing it gently.

House laughed, quietly too, as every loud noise was unnecessary in that much proximity. "I'm sure he would. He's been too slow, however, and I'm already taken. Happily taken." He kissed the top of Wilson's head, quickly, and then stared at their hands, moving together. It was all so close. It felt like they had been a couple for all of their lives, and they were just beginning. It seemed so much to think about - would they wear rings? Would he move to Wilson's place or Wilson would come to his? Most important: would it last? It surely had potential. He was thinking too fast again, too ahead of the moment they were living. "What about the wedding? Any fantasies, daydreams?"

Wilson placed his left hand in House's knee, and, with the other, he started to slowly stir the water in order to create a bit of foam. "Actually, I talked to a friend of mine who's a wedding agent. She is wonderful, and really competent. It had been... quite schematic for me, and it wasn't supposed to be different, I suppose. Plus, I am physically unable to decorate."

"There's no such thing as  _unable to decorate_." House chuckled, taking it as a joke.

"I mean it. The few things I bought for myself were because I found them and I liked them, never because  _oh, a poster would be nice in here, I should try to get one._  This is a freaking nightmare. So one can't come to me with Mr Wilson,  _what flower would you like?_ , 'cause I'll end up buying a palm tree."

House laughed again, picturing Wilson in a furniture shop suffering terribly because of a table. He started playing with the brown hair, massaging the scalp with his fingertips. "But isn't it the whole point of decorating? Buying something you like and putting it somewhere? Ok, I won't mock at your phobia of furniture shopping. I'll hold your hand and be there for you when you have to choose between two tables." Changing his tone to a much softer one, so low it sounded almost like a whisper or a loud thought, he went on. "My mother loves freesias. And she used to cultivate some tulips and narcissus too. I kind of liked it, mostly when they had strong colours. Of course the roses are always something to consider. But let's leave it to your decorator friend, much less me see... What about clothes?"

Wilson closed his eyes at the fingertips deliciously caressing his head, and sighed comfortably. "I think we should use the same clothes. I particularly don't enjoy that thing about one using black and the other white, even if it is just a detail, like a tie." He raised his hand to the surface of the water, holding some foam in his fingers. "What are your thoughts about bow-ties?" He immersed his hands again.

House shrugged once. "Bow ties are cool. They go very well with tuxedos. What do you think about wearing one? You're always wearing ties and suits, it would be weird to marry you with your work clothes. Sure, I'd marry you even naked. Especially naked." He smirked. "But I bet we'd look cool, and the hottest couple to ever get married."

A wide smile was open in Wilson's face, that even could be perceived by House's point of view. "I thought about it, I'd look a bit different and you... I bet you look hot in a tuxedo anyway." he separated the foam and washed his face, carefully "It will be fun to throw a party for, what, ten people. And I am counting the staff of this friend of mine and the hotel employees." He ran his hand through his own neck and massaging it. "That was the whole idea, people don't like to travel to other states in that very same weekend to attend to a wedding. Is there anyone you would like to be there for any reason? Or maybe  _not_  to be there at all?"

"I can't think of anyone I'd like to be there." House picked a bath sponge, putting a few drops of liquid soap in it before pushing Wilson softly, to start rubbing his back. "I don't know, Cuddy, Cameron, Thirteen, Taub, Chase... No, I guess Chase's gift would be a knife between your ribs. There's also Lucas, but do you think it'd be a good Idea to invite a detective to our wedding?" House frowned slightly, just for a second. He passed the sponge over Wilson's shoulders, covering the freckles with foam. "Hm... The person I'd want to be as far as possible would be Tritter, but I guess it's unavoidable."

Wilson sighed again, relaxed, blinking slowly once more. "Tritter won't miss it. Let's throw him the bouquet."

The talk they were having was resounding differently in the moistened air and the feeble morning lights, with his fiancé, a man, rubbing his slightly sore back and running the fingers in his skin, as a massage, while they sit together, spooning in a bathtub. It sounded real, and he was afraid to feel real. He was feeling so good it was like he'd melt, when it all was supposed to be odd, embarrassing. Like the people one would want in a real wedding would be the complete opposite of who they would want to be in theirs. But they even cogitated flowers, when Wilson really was up to just a meeting - really, just a meeting. There was already a Justice of the Peace scheduled, they'd have a toast, pop a champagne, take some pictures, have a dinner and that embarrassing scene would be over.

"We should exchange rings, but that would be really expensive. We can find imitations and," he chuckled "I still have my previous ones. Polish them and they'd be new. Would it fit in your finger?" He turned a bit and softly pulled House's left hand. "That really sounds like stealing the gold teeth out of a corpse, but I'm sure you wouldn't mind. It's like 'my song', isn't it?" he shrugged as he placed his hand over House's, comparing the sizes of their fingers.

"There were a few changes in the original, but yes, it's exactly like your song." Remembering about that made him feel odd, as Wilson had just brought back something he kept forgetting - it was all fake. It didn't feel fake, but nothing was sure once they began lying. Lying to the world, being sincere to each other; could it really be so? The solution was always the same; leave it alone. His right hand proceeded to rub the sponge on Wilson's neck, going down to his chest. It could seem like some kind of sensuous touch, but it wasn't the case in that moment. That small cloud over his eyes took a longer time to pass, and he kept rubbing Wilson's body tenderly and quietly. By the time he left the sponge back in it place and started throwing some water over Wilson's chest, he had already put that sensation aside - he wouldn't just let it spoil such a good moment with concerns about a future that seemed so far away. "Talking about music, maybe we should think of some songs to be played during dinner or before the formalities start, just to cover all the small talk about us."

Wilson let that silence sink inside of him, while House's hands were all over. Sometimes, the touches made him shiver, the chest against his back and the arms around his waist. But it was brief, and he decided to let only the unique sweetness to take over him. He stared hard at the tiles and his sight blurred as he cleaned himself very slowly underwater, even thoughtlessly. House's voice brought him back. "I really didn't think about it. Classic rock songs make people stop talking and start singing, what can help. We even have the excuse to play the romantic, cheesy ones, which everyone laughs and sings along. Karaoke sounds lame and yet everyone loves it. What reminds me" He laid again in House's shoulder, drowning in the water to the base of his neck, feeling the warm water in his colder skin. Something in his movements was like snuggling. "I never asked what you like to listen, though what I had heard you listening in the hospital a few times was really good. You are quite musical, magic fingers, I bet you'd make the best choices."

"I guess it's fine, then. Maybe I should invite one of my ex-patients who happens to be a famous trumpeter, he surely have some other musician friends. I made him walk again, he kind of owes me one. That is, if you don't mind jazz and blues."

His hands stilled over Wilson's chest, and the water was just warm enough. Soon it would become cold, and they still needed to have breakfast and go to work. Just a moment, please. Let us enjoy it. A small scene in the movie they were, and the sun could be just about to set; or a falling star could just pass before their open eyes; but they were in a bathtub, peacefully relishing that embrace, and that was far more beautiful. Practical matters then came to the surface, but they still didn't have the strength to make what they were living less meaningful; that was where the real magic lived. "God, I'm so hungry. What will you prepare for us as breakfast?"

"I am so not leaving here." Wilson locked his hands in the bathtub border, pressing slightly his back against House's chest, with a slight wave. "For dinner perhaps,  _just perhaps_." He smiled and looked at the other.

"Do I need to remind you that you promised me dinner yesterday but instead you made me engage in an extremely exhausting activity with you? I don't eat since the sandwich I made myself at 6 p.m., I'm starving." House purred and nuzzled at Wilson's hair. "Please, James... Pancakes..."

Wilson's shoulders shook from a hard shiver and he closed his eyes, smirking. "Oh, I  _made_  you do that, how thoughtless. I should have realized you were up to taste something. I knew it should have been the 'me with maple syrup' idea, too bad I left it at home. But ok, we can have pancakes." he sighed loud, as if painfully.

House grinned and nibbled at Wilson's ear, feeling the other shivering at his touch. "It's good in here but the water will soon get cold, you know that." He chuckled softly and kissed the corner of the other's mouth. "You seem to enjoy the water so much, baby dolphin, we need to do this more times."

"What I like is to be inside your arms." Wilson lowered his head and cleared his throat exactly afterwards, as if he had said too much too fast, and turned in the bathtub again faster than his body would recommend. He knelt in front of House, facing him, and emerged his torso to kiss him, impetuously, though not violently - as if that, the physical, was the only meaning of the sentence he had just said.

His lips moved with Wilson's, his head echoing what he had just said, a sound at the distance like the thunders on their first time. His hands moved to the other's waist with some uncertainty - despite being always ready to kiss Wilson, he wasn't exactly expecting something like that. It felt almost desperate. When their mouths separated, though, they only smiled at each other, with their bodies rubbing and making waves in the water.


	13. The World Without

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We can work this out,  
> I believe, although it seems impossible now.  
> Keep the world without,  
> only the two of us count."
> 
> A Fine Frenzy, "The World Without"

For them, who had seen and cherished that peaceful moment in time, it would be even hard to believe in such couple of weeks. It had been so crazy Wilson could laugh, as in a bad comedy show, but their patient was dead despite they did everything they could and all fun things seemed to blur, leaving only the weight of the worries they brought.

After he had nearly fallen asleep in the lab, Wilson was sure that he was too self-centered for 'everything he could' to be enough. It seemed that it had been the final straw, and then the lights in the end of the day, from the horizon ahead in the road, were aggressively hitting his eyes through the glass and shining in his skin, in the fingers closed in the steering wheel. House was silent by his side, to that point just observing, sounding to Wilson as if always about to laugh or to say something.

"No, I have no idea where I am driving to. I just wanted some air." He couldn't help but saying.

The next day from when he slept in House's place, the one with bubble bath and pancakes in the morning, was oddly funny when it was over - when it was over.

It all started with the chuckling when Wilson refused a seat saying 'No, I'm fine standing.'

Kutner, Thirteen and Taub exchanged looks, and House, placing the cane in his shoulders, said mindlessly, as if really explaining himself "It's not what you are thinking. We spent the night in a country party and he won the mechanical bull competition. We got beer for free the whole night."

Taub rolled his eyes, placing the hand inside his trousers' pocket while Thirteen grinned.

"Is this a bet?" Wilson frowned. "Do you guys have bets about our sex life?"

"No, not really. We bet about your entire relationship." Kutner answered.

Thirteen shrugged, crossing her arms and leaning on the back of her chair. "It's the most interesting thing that happened here this month. Sorry, Wilson, it's not personal. We never intended to expose you."

"It's all about House, actually." Taub completed.

"Yeah." She nodded. "It's him we like to mess with."

"I don't know what you are talking about." House approached the table. "The only thing erotic about last night was the shocking Palestinian movie we watched. There was full-face nudity in there. But in there they had a country of their own, it was so beautiful, a terrorist attack to my heart. I couldn't sleep in the same bed as James because my heart blamed him for being Jewish."

Wilson rolled his eyes and took the said seat.

"We were also thinking that..." Kutner spoke again."House-Wilson sounds like an ancient dynasty..."

"And Wilson-House sounds like talking about my place." Wilson smirked. He was always too defensive, and maybe that was the worst posture to keep. "We'll keep our last names like they are." he lowered the files and raised his eyes to them. "By the way... Would you... Would you all like to be there? I know that it is a bit short in time to make such an invitation, but you also know what messed our plans. It'll be just a meeting, I will understand if you can't make it. You don't need to answer now."

The sweetest expression that was set in Wilson's face then would make them feel immediately bad about mocking him, or to say no to that invitation. It wasn't any sacrifice anyway; they liked his company, they liked him, - who wouldn't. Taub, Thirteen and Kutner just smiled, and it was obvious they wouldn't miss it.

"It will be fun. That is, if everyone drinks enough to do all those embarrassing things I'd love to put on the internet." House walked closer to the three other doctors and whispered quite loudly, in a conspiracy tone. "You know, I suggested 'Mr. and Mr. Hilson', doesn't it sound nice? But he keeps turning me down."

Thirteen stared at Wilson with an amused smile, as if analyzing him. "Maybe it's because of the 'h' in the beginning, maybe he wishes it started with a 'w'." Wilson rolled his eyes and sighed, as if giving up.

"Putting the 'h' in the beginning would give the impression that you'd be the dominant one, what the rumors keep denying." Taub said. When everyone stared at him, he just lifted his hands in a kind of defensive gesture. "I just said aloud what everyone was thinking."

"Sincerity is always appreciated. By the way, are you cheating on your wife again?" Taub just crossed his arms over his chest, staring at House defiantly.

"As if every relationship had a dominant one, this is so ridiculous. You're only mad you've lost the bet." said Thirteen, grinning.

"I'm just saying that the grumpy ones are always needy, and it seems to me..." Taub began speaking, but Wilson cut his speech, looking slightly distressed with the talk.

"Enough. Do I need to remind everyone that we've got a case to solve, like, every time?" Wilson seemed inpatient.

"The patient's is taking the meds, all we can do is wait for him to react to the treatment. Or not."

House remembered he had even smiled at then; and it all felt heavy back there, in the present, when Wilson looked so disturbed. It was the first time they passed through a patient's death together like that, and he noticed every change in the other's features as the time passed and the news make room inside his thoughts after the initial shock. A miscalculation, a finger slip - and it all went from an apparent recuperation to violent seizures, irreversible damages in the vital organs, and then all that was left for them to do was checking the clock and writing down the time of death. Wilson's face looked as if made of stone, while his voice sounded too hoarse. "Just get in the car, now." The 'don't ask' was implied in his tone, and House watched attentively as his face went all the way from angry shock to a sad exhaustion, and then to a more conformed expression, though still far from the usual. He wanted to break that tension even if it caused an explosion he knew far too well what holding back could cause.

"I know where this road takes. Just try to avoid going too near of Louisiana, they wouldn't let a criminal like you step your foot in there again."

In response, Wilson stepped gradually in the brakes and slowed down, still silent, dilated nostrils and lips pressed in each other in a thin line. Nearly stopping, he drove to the side of the road, until the wheels were on the grass. It was an open field, trees and the rocks. Nothing to see, though, and nothing to stop to. "You know, it's... It's awakening when this sort of thing happens." he swallowed hard and looked hard at the bright road, narrowing his eyes. And I don't mean the death only." Then he chuckled, an extremely bitter chuckle. "You're no Bad Wolf, I'm no Prince Charming, but it really seems I've been seeing things as a fairytale." he looked at House for just a glance. "Maybe that's why I... fled with you like this or whatever. Trying to run from facts and from reality... it's fucking addictive."

"I see." The sky was starting to show hues of orange and pink amidst the blue, and he could tell it would be a beautiful sunset; the kind of sunset one wished to paint it with oil on canvas, for it to glisten forever in the living room's wall. The cliche was always inevitable, it seemed, just like the thousands of paintings of the sea or some lost forest decorating houses everywhere. It was getting chilly, though, and the wind was blowing softly but constant.

"I've always thought fairy tales were too badly written to be worth the time spent reading it. There's too many things out of the story, and the great parts are all missing. I'm sure the Prince Charming was quite nasty, and getting laid was surely one of his wills. Bad Wolf could be chasing some young lad instead of a boring little girl, hungry for something other than just food." House smirked. "You know the end doesn't matter that much without some awesome background and all that happened before told in details. How it happened." House looked to the great tree covered in white flowers, admiring it quietly for a second. Before Wilson could speak, though, he added. "I like how everything's happening. I guess... If it's a fairy tale, it's one worth reading. Or living."

Wilson closed his eyes, and the chuckle he gave had then a hint of unbelieving. "When did you get this..." he just waved his head and kept on resiliently smiling. "Forget it. I'd have to ask myself the same thing, how did I get this way. And just the fact that I don't care about the answer is already alarming." Hearing those words of House's, he wanted to wave his worries goodbye. He wanted to hold the meanings, to hold on to that idea that House actually meant that they had a story. An unwritten one, and that marriage wasn't the said 'happily ever after', the three damn words that are placed in a story after the interesting climax is solved, and which only means that, from then on, there wasn't anything good enough to be told, and the story would bore even a child to death."But I can't keep on not caring. Look... what happened already. Amanda as a promoter is my life saver, already deciding things for the party, but she is also helping me go nuts. All the doctors, the silly bets, Cuddy with her requests, Tritter and his threatens, Amber, Amber! That one was marvelous."

House almost burst into laughter remembering the scene with Amber, but it sounded like coughing as he held it back. There they were the three of them in that afternoon, inside House's office. There wouldn't be a world in which the triangle with the current and the ex would be fine, but having House as a fiance and Amber as an ex-girlfriend could easily mean war. The way the blonde hissed the words like poison; her eyes narrowed the mostly she could; all that aggressive posture in a doll's body.

"You can't imagine what a funny surprise it was, to find out from an immigration agent that you were using me as a cover to hide your little gay romance. So besides being a jerk who can't even make time to go to my little get-together with my friends, you're also a cheater. And a liar. I should know your eagerness to cuddle in the couch and hold hands watching those silly movies was just frigidness. God, when I said you loved your job more than me I was more right than I ever thought I could be. You were not only in love with your job, you were also fucking with him!"

House looked at her nonchalantly, as if he couldn't care less.

"So I guess this is the Blow-dryer Bitch."

"Stop it, Gregory." He glared at House before looking at her as she shoot House a furious, indignant look.

" _Blowdryer bitch?_ "

"Amber, look..."

"Don't come 'look' all over me, James. I'm not stupid. I was mad at you, of course I was, we broke up because you took more time ironing your ties than having sex with me."

"But, we dated for like-"

"You used me, you mean." There was a way she said things, that even when the speech sounded maniacal, she looked threatening and self-assuring enough to cancel all the softness that her physical features could use to fool. "I wouldn't be here with this stupid scene if you haven't used me and fooled me, and I don't usually put things behind me. Unlike you, it seems. "She then looked at House again "But Agent Tritter told me about this British boyfriend of yours. I felt like talking to him". She smiled sickly at her ex's fiance.

"I'm sorry, I'm already taken, there's nothing to talk. Now, if you're done with your little scene, you can move your ass out of my office, I suppose. If you're not done, you can leave anyway. I promise I won't be too upset." Amber looked dangerously close to throw something at him, but House could see she wouldn't do that. She was enraged and that clearly annoyed her. He didn't felt sympathetic, though.

"This is ridiculous, can you both please..." Wilson started, but was interrupted by both Amber and House, who said "Shut up" almost at the same time.

Amber looked at him from head to toes; sharp blue eyes like his own. "As far as I know, you're a selfish crippled jerk."

"And as far as I know, you're a crazy bitch who can't stand being alone with your empty head." House answered.

She just smiled, venomously. "That's all you can say about me? That I'm a bitch, that I'm dumb? Jealous like a fifteen-year old?" She laughed delighted. "I bet this was your idea. Well, I don't have time to be part of this. Have I known before that he liked to be fucked, I'd have done it myself. But in fact, it is good. Now you're the one who will have to buy him Sephora facial creams, and I won't have to share mine. I wish you both the happiest of marriages." She smiled, sweetly. "I just hope they don't think you're lying and deport your sweetheart. Because we did had a story, haven't we?" Her face changed to a cold mask, and she stared hardly at them. "I'm leaving. I just wanted you to know, James, how pathetic you are."

Wilson wanted to yell at her face that no, they didn't have a history, they had a damn affair or whatever. He could comprehend her indignation, but Amber had always been to deadly about everything. She sounded mean even when ordering something on the menu for the waiter, but they broke up a bit soon for him to be sure about any revengeful or actually cruel behavior. He wanted to tell her all this, but the chance for her to leave was way too attractive for him to lose.

"Noted. Now, please, let's end this like adults before I get to call the security for both of you." he stepped in between them both, and it was even shivery. He kept on staring at her. "Amber,let's have a lunch or something. If we have unsolved issues, I'd be glad to discuss them, but without this situation."

She smiled sweetly at him while her ferine blue eyes.

"Oh, no, Jimmy. This is actually the fun part. You don't think I care about your peaceful answers, do you? You are always so diplomatic, it's such a turn off. No. I came in here because it's always fun to scare the shit out of you." Then she looked at House, while already stepping back with her black scarpins. "And to know who I'm dealing with. See you soon, loverbirds." She walked out the room before anyone could answer, because she needed to have the last word.

Wilson glared back at House, when she was already out of sight. "You had to do that, didn't you?"

"Do what?" House asked almost innocently, looking like someone who's just been attacked over and over and still didn't understand the reasons. Amber seemed to him the grown-up version of an overindulged child - or maybe a child who hadn't been indulged at all. It was just too obvious that they were somehow alike, and that was like a terrible itch in every thought. Ignoring Wilson's glare (of what could be irritation with House or Wilson himself for whatever reason), House just shrugged. "She wasn't here to have a nice little chat with us, she just wanted to cause an uproar. Nothing we could say would have stopped her. I just made the situation a bit more fun. And admit it, Blow-dryer Bitch suits her well."

"I think she will use my blow dryer she kept to throw in someone's bathtub to make a murder look like an accident." Wilson remembered how he hissed between his teeth, and how he buried his face in his hands like he was doing there, in the present, that end of the afternoon at the roadside. For one moment, as the silence surrounding him from outside in, making things blurred and sounding like water against his ears.

It was quite a beautiful tree out there, covered in white, blooming beautifully like the portrait of spring. Wilson had no idea how that image had gotten space inside his mind to fit and make place, but it did, and he thought it really through. He had a random space in his mind, among all the words he meant to say, to think that it was a really beautiful tree.

"I'm, I'm afraid, Greg. I never meant to bring you this, it seemed to me our... joy shouldn't be touched. That I'd ruin everything if I admitted it, but I am. I can lose..." In that moment, he looked at House, a pained expression in his face. His parted mouth, that was meant for the words to come out and complete the sentence then was only to release his heavy breath, in a sigh.

Afraid is always too heavy a word, falling like a stone in the water, disturbing its surface with great circles. It sounded more grave than it could be in fact, and people usually avoid it. To admit it is to let it grow and let its deep roots take over the heart. Not to admit is to keep cutting the branches but never removing it completely; sentencing oneself to live with it day by day. House chuckled in what could be anxiousness or uneasiness, not exactly knowing what to do or say. Each word that left his mouth in Wilson's company was a runaway; and he always said too much, and never said enough.

"Well, the only thing I can do is getting you drunk or getting you sucked off. Or both. Both is always good. Maybe some wine to our posh little American boy, as long as he promises not to fall asleep before fun begin."

Wilson laughed weakly, still just a bit pained. He looked at House with the most incredulous, amazed look in his face. "That's what I was talking about. You are- you are a truth junkie and yet you just make everything so... simple. " He sighed, looking away while his hand reached blindly for House's, skimming in his left thigh and ending up caressing it. It was supposed to sound just teasing or daring, but even that near his hips the touching had something soft, tender. "I won't play the runaway bride, I promise. I just... need a breath." He stared back at House and smirked "Or I need you to take it away. Make me catch it. It's also a good choice. And this car brings me memories."

If Wilson said it had been amazing, it would be offensive. He'd always go for an hyperbole, because it would fit better. Like he had had more orgasms in that week than in his whole life'. Yeah, that sounded fine, as if he needed to scream exaggeration for what he was living make sense. It made him lick his own lips.

First time, fine, really good. House surely loved by itself when he got lovely Wilson to swear or to grab and untidy his own impeccable hair. They were in House's place and they had time, so Wilson made sure to let him know everything he was doing well and when it wasn't the right time, what the hell, is House a damn database? And then there was the last one so far, in which House clearly seemed to be getting revenge for the other day, when Wilson was behind him in the motorcycle and placed his hand between his legs, holding him until he would feel the then tightened jeans even tighter. 'I'm going to fucking crash this car' was already a sentence in Wilson's mouth when House opened the younger's trousers and put his hand inside it, until he could pull the underwear elastic down to directly hold a hard-on he'd jerk off. When he got to bend his body and his head was by his lap, Wilson was one hundred percent sure he would drift off if he didn't stop - the car, not the blowjob. He'd crash it before asking House to stop, and it was funny how this attitude summarized an essential point in their relationship.

"I shouldn't be telling you that 'I can suck you off' is an argument I can't ever bring down."

House smirked, that funny sensation of pride filling him again, as if making Wilson come hard against his palate and down his throat was more gratifying than anything he could do in his life. When he couldn't smile, being concentrated in the movements of his tongue that needed some subtlety to work, just as well as controlling his epiglottis not to gag - what ended up being the easiest part, just like Wilson predicted when they were plotting their love story. While the younger moaned and whined, grabbing his hair or anything at hand's reach, House had his mind working on memories and considerations, paying attention to the reactions, trying not to let his own arousal spoil him. And the realization came to House that it probably was the best way to get something from Wilson - the name of a certain movie, for example. "I promise I won't use it against you to cause you harm, don't worry. I just want to make my fiancé as happy as possible."

Wilson chuckled. "God, I think I already know this face of yours. Last time I thought we'd be expelled from the tuxedo rental store. We weren't being any discreet making out in the dressing room. A bit more and she'd call the cops. " He wasn't yet feeling as light as he wanted to show, but he pretended to be - not to deceive House, what seemed unlikely, but to end up convincing himself. Being afraid wouldn't help him, and it was good to remember those moments, to know how each touch - like his hand holding House's there - seemed way bigger than any of the distressful moments, even though they weren't few and they weren't small. But that power each kiss had over him, to make him lose all his way like a blackout in his reason, was also frightening. In that exact moment as he could start to over-think, a sun ray hit his eyes as if someone projected it against his face. The sun was setting fast, really like falling in the horizon, and he had to lean his back in the backrest of his seat. It all happened in two seconds after his answer; then, he merely sighed and his of view changed, his glance wandering away, through House's window, to see if there was any other tree as filled to its top with white flowers as the one right ahead of them.

"It's not my fault if you can't keep your hands off of me." House looked from Wilson to the last light of the day disappearing in the horizon. He could almost see it happening again: the way Wilson rolled his eyes when House suggested a luminous blue suit with thin white lines in the borders; the way he looked in the well-cut tux after he was done buttoning the cuffs; the way he caught his breath when House pushed him against the mirror and kissed him hungrily, without hesitation. There was a beautiful harmony in wearing identical suits, and he could only think about how close they were with a deep excitation, as if it was something he expected to happen for months and not a couple weeks.

He tried to keep himself on the ground but the hand in his own inspired him to fly and fantasize - the very thought of James, in fact. He entwined his fingers with Wilson's, caressing his hand lightly with his thumb, and, when their eyes met again, House couldn't help closing them and pressing their lips together in a kiss. Closing his eyes as if Wilson was shining as brightly as that sun's last sigh, just about to blind him, and touching his face with his free hand. That day was finally over and they were free to live in that particular world of theirs, with doors closed.

Bending his leg and leaning his free hand in House's seat, Wilson could turn to him completely to fit their lips better, though not getting to deepen the kiss. He let it as careful as it was, as gentle, to fill him up not with any threats or the burden of the patient's death, but with something sweet, that could look as casual as a twilight, that happens in a daily basis but no one gets to look at.

The sweetness in the way his eyes would glimmer when he saw Gregory in a tux, and how he'd lean in the mirror watching as the other tidied the collar - also how he, Wilson, tried to help him tie the bow and was held close, pushed against the mirror and kissed eagerly. The unavoidable thought of every time, 'oh God, I'm completely out of my mind', we could have gotten ourselves fired, arrested or killed - that happened while a delicious superdose of adrenalin or even within an afterglow, was followed by an automatic wide smile. And as amazing as those daring, breath-taking crazy moments, there were the ones when they had time for each other, time to watch the pleasure slowly take over their expressions and as slowly the exhaustion substituting it, when they were sleeping side by side and eating together in the morning. Wilson was waking up smiling and going to sleep smiling, and perhaps he'd feel guilty to feel just so ridiculously happy all the time while he should be more careful, more committed. When he separated the kiss, caressed House's leg, going up to his belly and stopping by his chest. Have they kissed for that long that the sun was already gone, or was it the sunset that was faster than he used to remember? It came to him how long has it been since he last time He watched it, and he was taken by that sudden realization of how important this sort of thing was. "Should we go home, then, raspberry pie? I can make us dinner." he didn't even realized he said 'home', so naturally it came out.

"Dinner sounds amazing. As long as you don't repeat the meat balls fiasco of two nights ago." House laughed, and it was easy to laugh, even when there was a cold dead body in the morgue. Not that he used to get too depressed about it before, but there was always that heavy sensation filling his thoughts. The thought of burnt meat and smoke coming from the kitchen was more of a memory he held dear than a funny one. Wilson looking at the frying pan, frustrated, with one of his hands over the waist covered by an apron - it made him want to kiss him right there, and he did. The music coming from a radio in the living room created a comfortable atmosphere, and House dared to say it suited a night that smelt like burnt food - Wilson just punched his arm weakly and called him an asshole; House just grinned. The sky was deep blue by then, and, after pulling Wilson to him for a quick kiss, House leaned his back on the seat again. "Let's go home then."

The car, less than half an hour since it stopped at the roadside, was travelling the way back. It was almost completely dark when they reached Wilson's place, listening to random songs in the radio and barely talking, that time, though it was usually so easy. House suggested they headed to his place, where he had all his ingredients so Wilson could cook them a nicer dinner and in exchange they could watch one of his boring movies, 'since I need to sleep anyway'. When, laughing, Wilson tried to add a back massage to the sum, House demanded macadamia cookies. They went on with the said negotiation, and a bit weirdly House didn't mention much sexual favors coming from for any of them as a coin. He didn't think much of it, though. It was a tough day for him, for them both, and he wasn't exactly in the mood - though that was hardly such a thing between them.

When they were in the kitchen and House was choosing them songs to listen, they were deliciously entertained, that atmosphere of only joy that created itself around them every time, shielding them. About the movie, House indeed had said "Oh no, we're putting the TV in the bedroom. It was good while it lasted. From now on you will get fat and complain about headaches.", but he didn't do anything in order to stop it. Wilson assumed he was just as tired as he was, and went back to the kitchen.

House looked at the bed thoughtfully when Wilson left him there, just to be sure it would work. After being sure it could be done without great trouble, he walked to the kitchen and stopped leaning on the wall for a while.

Wilson asked, playfully, "Hey hottie, do you usually come around here?"

"Just when I have to assure dinner won't be ruined by an airhead who gets too easily distracted."

Wilson made a face of indignation and threw a cloth on him, laughing afterwards. "You jerk, I should let you starve."

"Oh, you know you love me. Let me check what kind of boring stuff you have." House looked on the shelves, sometimes taking a book or a movie case out of it to see it better. After some time, he threw himself in the sofa and placed his hands over his abdomen, with closed eyes staring at the ceiling. "You can choose whatever you want, it's not as if I would pay attention to it." A nice smell of meat and something au gratin filled his nostrils, and he smiled, breathing deeply.

It was a pleasant evening by itself. House took a shower while Wilson was still cooking, and Wilson found himself frowning while thinking. He managed to make an amazing dinner without that - always welcomed - distraction that House represented. After dinner and discussions around the trip, Wilson was talking about that friend of his, Amanda, who was more than sure that everything was on its right track, even with the reduced time they had. They ended up talking about music and how good it would be if they got everyone really drunk, enough for them both to have fun watching, no one would pay attention on anything that might be wrong, and they wouldn't talk about what they could notice - both because they wouldn't like anyone to talk about them either, and because they might not remember. When Wilson was out of the shower, wearing T-shirt and sweatpants, House was sitting on the bed, beside him the had the batch of hot cookies Wilson actually had made. The older looked at him and smirked - there was something else in that smile.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want"

"I can make you a back massage. Bring one of the Victoria Secret body creams and take off your shirt." House just answered, and the other obeyed. It wasn't Victoria Secrets or Sephora as they all suggested, but he indeed had some creams. When Wilson came back and took his T-shit off, the younger grinned.

"No happy ending?"

The older had a comprehensive smile. "You need a rest. I get it, don't worry.", he said as Wilson sat in front of him.

House had precise fingers, always, and Wilson didn't even restrained the moaned breaths as they slid along his back. He was really sure House would try something else, but even when it ended, when he got the younger completely relaxed, his only attitude was raising his arm and placing it over Wilson's shoulder, as if to pull the other laid beside him. And so Wilson did it; he just kissed softly House's neck before turning the TV on, laying by his side and wrapping his arm around the other's torso. He sighed then, smiling, comforted.

The room was illuminated by the soft light coming from the black and white movie on the television. It probably wasn't a noir movie, like the ones he knew Wilson liked, it was all too bright. He wasn't paying attention to it, anyway. He had one hand caressing Wilson's hair, placed above the other's head on the pillow. The other hand held Wilson's, and his eyes seemed lost in some point ahead. The smell of the massage lotion was fading slowly, but it still could be felt strongly on Wilson's skin. He knew the other would be soon asleep, and with that he was counting. He had to let everything in the right place before going to sleep, in case he hadn't too much time. It was good that Wilson always woke up around the same time, and House could keep himself awake easily. He was paying attention to the younger's breath rate, hearing it slow down as he seemed to be drifting off. House smiled, as everything was going so well. By then he already knew how heavily Wilson slept when tired, and it would do him good to rest. When he was sure the younger wouldn't wake up, he slowly got up from the bed and started to look for the things he needed. In the drawers, he found the ties - he was planning on choosing the strongest ones, but his criteria ended up being which are the ugliest ones around here.

"Orange, seriously. You had it coming, James." House whispered, closing the drawers. With the television still on, he started making knots, while Wilson's belly went up and down as he breathed slowly, unaware of what was going to happen.


	14. Darts of pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know that you will surrender"
> 
> Franz Ferdinand, "Darts of pleasure"

What had woken Wilson up took him a moment to understand; he opened his eyes just a bit, closing them afterwards. His lips twisted in a smile as he felt the kiss in his neck, such as the hands on his chest. He pulled his hands to hold House, but they didn't move; not even when he pulled harder, and that made him open his eyes wide. When he looked to his side, still slowly frowning, he saw his hand tied to the headboard of the bed.

"What..." In a sudden movement, startled, he bent his legs a bit and pulled his body back, looking at his other hand, only to confirm that both his wrists were tied up to the headboard of his bed. "What the fuck is going on, Gregory?" He was really sleepy, so he was still too taken over by his confusion in order to make a good conclusion.

"I think you know what's going on." House said, looking into Wilson's eyes with a big grin on his face."Just think a little, James. We've got all day, if needed." House slid his index finger over Wilson's chest, from his clavicles to his lower abdomen, looking almost amorously at what he had done.

"You..." Wilson looked a bit indignant at first, but then he mirrored House's grin. "And you said you weren't into kinks." Wilson looked at his own hands, still not completely sure of what to think. "Is that... are those my Burberry ties?"

"Are you actually telling me you've spent your money on these things? Orange, James, fucking orange. You gotta be kidding me."House chuckled low, playing with the waistband of Wilson's sweatpants. "I wouldn't call it a kink. Of course it all depends on what's your point of reference." Lowering Wilson's pants just enough for him to be able to kiss that spot of skin that was a very sensitive point to the younger, he did it, an open-mouthed kiss, closing his eyes and licking the skin afterwards, as if to see what it tasted like.

Wilson's abdominal muscles contracted as he felt that kiss in his skin, and he even smirked. Ok, this isn't a kink, then." He lowered his head, against the pillow, and took a deep breath. "I don't know how you'd call it, then, but I can-" he caught his breath at the fingers under the elastic band of his sweatpants. "I really didn't see this coming." He was still trying to be comfortable in that situation, but he unavoidably pulled his wrists and his muscles twitched as House's mouth placed another kiss beside his hipbone.

"Of course you didn't." House kissed the fabric over Wilson's crotch. "That was the whole point." He then leaned on his elbow, looking at Wilson with an almost wicked smile. "You're right, I think I can call it a kink. But you're not right, at the same time. You're not looking at the right place." His body moved upwards, until they were face to face. "You have something I want, rabbit."

Wilson had a weird will of moving his head up and kissing House, just because the way his hoarse voice and accentuated the British accent, together with that dirty look in his face, are already halfway to conquer him and make him willing to go for it. But the question rose in the air, and he frowned for a moment, before being able to comprehend if that was literal or not. "What do you want from me?" he said in a low tone.

House chuckled, delighted, and moved his head to the side a bit, to whisper in Wilson's ear. "Let's say I want your deepest secret, James." The way he said the name - almost breathless for catching his breath from the first word to the last - along with the firm touch over Wilson's groin was the last time he was subtle; from then on, he would play it hard to get what he wanted. "I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

"No, I've..." the last word trembled in his lips, vibrating, as House's hand grabbed him that firmly. He opened his mouth, breathing in through it, closing his eyes. "I've literally just woken up and your hand is on my dick, I have a hard time thinking in both situations." When he opened his eyes, though, he frowned again. Maybe he had a glimpse of an idea, but he wouldn't say it.

"It seemed that smirk would never leave House's lips." You've said three things to me that made me have a kind of an epiphany in parts. I'll say the first one and the other two, well, you'll have to find out by yourself." He pressed the hardening flesh more eagerly for a while, listening to Wilson's low moaned breath. The whisper sounded husky in the morning air filled with so much lust already. "First hint: 'You'd have to torture me.'"

After smiling at Wilson's dumbstruck face, he went downwards his chest, kissing all the way to the groin slowly and intensely, with calculated movements. Raising the waistband of the pants just a little and pushing it down a bit, he observed with something similar to victory painted on his face. "I'm sure it will come a time you won't even think of using your underwear anymore. I don't even know why you bother, in fact - we both know how it can be inconvenient sometimes. Remember that time when you were driving?" House let go of the fabric, just to mouth Wilson softly through his pants for a couple of minutes, never letting him actually recover from his touches.

Wilson didn't want to remember; it would be too fulminant. He bent his legs again and placed both his feet on the mattress, pulling his body a bit, to be farther from House's touches, raising his head to look at him. "Is it...?You can't be serious." He released his neck muscles and let his head fall again in the pillow, as he painfully sighed. "I knew it, I knew you just don't forget of things. Why-why would you think this is a good idea, let it go, it's not even available anymore, I couldn't show you not even if I wanted to. Stop this." His voice was not as firm as he wanted it to be.

"You also called me a "truth junkie". You know how hard is for me to just let go... And talking about hard..." House reached out for the waistband of Wilson's sweatpants once more, and when the other moved his hips away, he only smiled, almost sweetly. "Baby, we both know you don't want to resist." He moved towards Wilson once more, this time with his whole body, to sit on his hips and oblige him to relax his legs. Then he bent his torso until he was skimming on Wilson's lips with his. "You know, sometimes I can't just decide what I'd like to do to you. You're always so eager to try everything, in this cute sex addition of yours... Guess I've chosen well my fiance. I just wonder, what would be your favourite one? I already know about your love for deepthroat." House smirked. "The best part is that you don't need to tell me. As I've said, we've got all day." House moved his own hips over Wilson's, as if to demonstrate what he was saying.

Wilson held the ties, both pulling and releasing it, but never coming to loosen the knots. "Come on, Greg..." he whined, parting his mouth. House was completely aware that he'd want it, and he had found out before how arousing was to be vulnerable. The shivers down his spine and the heat on his groin were showing perfectly how he'd love it. What he didn't want, what he didn't want at all, was to be part of House's wicked game. "This is sick, don't do this to me." House moved again and he let out a brief whimper. "It's mostly not me in the scenes of that movie, I don't even know where it is now, I-I-I bet you can find by yourself better than I do." The way House moved against his hips made him hold his breath. He kept on holding it and closed his eyes, as if trying to concentrate in something else.

"Oh, James..." House stopped the movements and let go of Wilson, getting out of the bed for a while. Carefully, he slid the pants off of Wilson's legs, and then laid beside his hips, caressing his groin lightly. "You also said 'I can suck you off is an argument I can't ever bring down.' You know I can do it. You know I actually enjoy doing it to you." Leaning his head on Wilson's hipbones, he licked his erection from the base to the tip, hearing Wilson catching his breath as he did so. "Another thing I wanted to try was to make you come from prostate massage alone. I can't just decide... " His voice sounded as casual as possible, as if he was choosing between pizza or Chinese. "Maybe I should try both at the same time, what do you think? I have a small lube bottle in my trousers' pocket. "

Not giving time for Wilson to answer, he started to suck him hard. Wilson opened wide his eyes to the ceiling. He could try to imagine anything else to make his mind go away; flower fields, driving to the seaside, a grammatical test. He was really trying to remember Torricelli equation by the moment House sucked him that precise and fiercely, and for a second he'd forget even what physics was.

House stopping after some seconds to lean his head on Wilson's hipbones again. "You just need to say the name..."

"No. Stop it." His voice was really steady, more as a beginning in agony as his hips were lifting against his will. He leaned again on his feet and pulled his body up, sitting on his sacrum and leaning his upper back in the headboard. "I am not playing this fucked-up game of yours." he said while panting, both of arousal and desperation. "Just untie me already." His suffering expression gave room to an angry one, though the need was still there.

"You know I can't. And I know you don't really want me to." House smiled sweetly, with his face resting on one of his hands. ""And it is not a game. I think it is more like an exchange of favours. It's not like you're really hating all of this, is it? You're even positioned already." The smile turned into a smirk as he approached Wilson, paying attention to the legs, holding his hard-on once more, avoiding the resistance the best he could. Whispering in the other's ear, he went on. "Or maybe what you want is to get to fuck me. It's been so long since the last time. I could ride you perfectly this way. " His hand massaged the hardened flesh in a steady rhythm, and he would suggest everything, until Wilson gave in. It wasn't a game - it was more like a challenge.

Wilson contorted his body under House's, looking to the other side. "Of course I want it, I just don't want to..." he said, breathless, voiceless, before realizing what he was confessing. As House's hand started moving slower, his hips lifted rhythmically against his fingers for some seconds. He clenched his jaw when he had to stop himself. "God, I hate you." he hissed "How many times do I need to tell you I don't know the fucking name?" he vociferated between his puffing breath, glaring at House. "I don't know what Fredric did with that, I tried to forget that fucking piece of crap, I think this shit is dumped somewhere, in hell I hope." the irritation in his voice was clear as he roared, but the one in his expression faded as he agonized once more under House's body. His skin was so sensitive he knew he was soon going to be too excited to go back - so he couldn't let this happen. His body was tense and he closed his eyes again.

"Oh, I think you're a liar." He nuzzled in Wilson's neck, placing warm kisses on it. Each time the younger seemed to be regaining control over his body, House jerked Wilson off faster, stronger. Going downwards his torso again, in a trail of wet kisses, he stopped and stared, as if contemplating his options. "You can't imagine how aroused I am, how much I'd like to make you come hard down my throat or inside of me, or all over my body. But if you don't say the name, I'd be distracted and I wouldn't be able to give you all the attention you deserve. Everything in me aches for you, James, even my mind. I'm not asking for much. Say it, James." House breathed deeply over Wilson's erection, and the name sounded almost like a moan in his lips. He kissed and sucked the tip softly at times, a gentle caress of a lover. His eyes opened and closed, but always fixed in Wilson's, shining with pleading.

Wilson couldn't stay still; not being able to hold House or to do anything about his own arousal and his own pleasure was making him pulling his shoulders up, twisting his body in agony. He still tried to press his knees together, but it was ruined in his last spasm. He had his teeth clenched, in a cruciated expression. When he got to open his eyes to the ceiling again, he had slid back laid, head pressing against the pillow, and he was pushing his hips towards House's touches, every one of them. "Please, Greg... please." He closed his eyes again and he knew it was too late. He needed more. "Anything..."

"I was wondering..." He drew lines on Wilson's crotch, mindlessly. "How much can you stay without sex? Wanking in the shower counts too, it's some kind of palliative, isn't it? But this is a question for later." Holding the base of Wilson's hard-on, firmly, he whispered. "Come on, love. Just the name of the movie and we can fuck the hell out of each other. It's up to you... I've already made the offers." He smirked, placing a soft kiss in his hipbone. He knew Wilson would give up on resisting, sooner rather than later.

"W-why do you want it?" He whined the words, feeling himself throb, his hands aching, so hard he was pulling his arms. "It's... it's only so ridiculous, I don't want everyone to f-find out. I don't want to say, you're just being cruel." he panted the words, and it was physically difficult to say anything. "I don't want this, untie me, I can take care of this myself." That was a weird way of sounding aroused and offended at the same time. "Enough, Gregory, seriously." he contorted his body once again, pressing his head against the pillow as the last word sounded like a loud moan.

House sighed. "It's not as if I would send a copy to everybody in the hospital, but fine. If you don't want to say it. I started this, I'll finish." He then licked his lips and Wilson's erection was once more engulfed by his mouth. He wasn't playing or going slow, but really fellating the younger eagerly. As the other moaned louder and louder and his blood pumped harder on the veins, House didn't stop, but proceeded to go a bit faster, touching his testicles, moving his head up and down. Wilson's hips moved too much, and he held them on the mattress with both hands, like every time. He felt confident after some times, knowing exactly what to do to make the other come as hard as possible in that situation. Wilson's breath was shorter and his spasms were more frequent and convulsive; those were the signs he was waiting for. His hands held the younger's hips firmly against the mattress as he took off his mouth from the hard-on, laying his body over the other's legs to difficult his moves.

"Come on, I can't just give up like this, it would a shame. Just the name, and I promise you I will stop. What means I'll go on until you come, and swallow every drop. This is what you want the most right now, isn't it?"

Wilson's agony was blinding him as he opened his eyes again. He lifted his chest and pressed his head against the pillow, a hoarse roar between his teeth. His body was sweaty, his sight was blurred and his wrists were aching. "Fuck you, that's evil, evil, God, I want to fuck the hell out of you now, you bastard." He said it out of bloodshot eyes, still while the anguishing and frustrating sensation of being that close and interrupted was taking him over. "Please, please, I'm begging you. It's... the name is..." he still closed his lips, biting them, but he felt House's fingers massaging him and his mouth unavoidably opened."'How wet is my valley'. Please..."

"God, I love this one. I mean, really, it's one of the best I've ever seen." House had his fingers covered in lube, and he drew circles around Wilson's entrance. "It wasn't that hard, was it?" He purred, inserting one of his fingers gently. "You're too eager right now, you wouldn't last enough to fuck me. I guess it's better if I just try what I was thinking before. I have this feeling that you'll love it. " He didn't went too deep, though, as if he was only stretching it for a while. Licking the tip of Wilson's erection slowly, without looking at him, he inserted the other finger, and he paid close attention to Wilson's face, to know when he was reaching the point or not. When he got to rub his fingertip over the slight bulge and Wilson moaned very loud, his hand drew back and stopped, and he leaned on his elbow, staring at the younger. "Funny thing is, "How Wet is My Valley", though being a masterpiece, doesn't show any men in it. And the girls, they were girls, I'm a hundred percent sure. What means you're lying again. Pity. Lies are such a great turn off for me, I think I can't go on, I'm sorry." His head moved away from Wilson's hips, and his fingers slid off slowly out of him.

"No, please." The desperation in Wilson's voice was filled with so much suffering one could say he was in pain. But he was indeed aching - for more, for anything that ended his torture - his eyes wide open, his spasmodic muscles, his freezing body, his sweaty back, his loud breath. He already knew he wouldn't take much longer, but both the sensations at the same time was something he wasn't anywhere near what he was able to deal. "Please, please, I'm begging you, anything." He pressed his head once again in the pillow, and he gasped, closing his eyes, moving his hips towards House before he could get farther. "Feral Pleasures." He was breathing deeply, the air into his windpipe making trembling, sizzling sounds of a suffocating victim. "The name is Feral Pleasures, I swear, please, just end it, I need, ple-ase..." His heart was racing and exploding so fast in his ears he wasn't even hearing what he was saying anymore. "You can fuck me, you can do anything you want with me, just don't leave me this way, make me come, please."

"Feral Pleasures." He said, almost tasting the words. "I hope you're speaking truth, honey bunny, I really do. I'm gonna trust you because, believe me, there's nothing I want most than making you come." House then started sucking him hard again, and at the same time his fingers reached for Wilson's prostate carefully. He knew Wilson would be mad at him for a while, but it would be just another great story in the end. It was a kind of a lesson he had to teach Wilson too, to not be awfully ashamed of things that didn't matter that much and just enjoy life more lightly. And of course, the main reason: he was terribly curious. His fingers massaged the point without much strength or effort, and it was enough to make Wilson whine like someone in pain. He could feel every convulsive move of the younger, and it wasn't that easy to coordinate his own movements - hands, fingers, lips, tongue - but he knew Wilson was about to come at any moment, tasting him already.

It didn't take long. The already known sensation of the warm liquid going down his throat came almost suddenly, and House kept himself in the same position, until Wilson's spasms became some seconds more spaced and he was sure there wasn't anything left. His lips were reddish, and he slowly took his fingers out of Wilson, as his breath became normal again. Moving towards the younger, he started to untie him.

Wilson stood there, prostrated, hardly able to move. House held his right wrist and loosened the knot, his hand falling heavily on the mattress. The only thing he did was bringing his arm closer to his body, feeling its muscles sore. House had to go to the other side of the bed to untie the other one, as he laid, dumbstruck, as if just had been electrocuted. He wouldn't believe or admit how hard he had come, and what a wreck was left of his body after that. When his left hand was freed, he sit down slowly, dizzy, moving faintly as if he had been in a coma.

"You're a dead man, Gregory." His words weren't angry, and, even though it was obvious it wasn't a literal threat, it wasn't a threat of any kind. It was a statement of how mad he was at that moment. He was still recovering his breath, with his lowered head, and he managed to glare at House from under his eyebrows.

"Does it mean I'm not gonna get pancakes today?" House smiled, looking naive. He'd have to take care of his own hard-on, as he predicted. The way Wilson moaned and begged had sent successive shivers down his spine, and he would be lying if he said he didn't like it - to have Wilson all for him to touch, to feel and to taste, to be the one, and the only one, to make him come, with no intervention. He missed the hands on his hair, keeping his head in place as if Wilson's very life depended on finishing that blowjob. He missed being touched. Those sensations contradicted one another, but the result was the same and simple one: he was way past arousing. House was about to leave the room to go to the bathroom and end all of that, but stopped halfway, looking at Wilson. "Can I kiss you?"

Wilson had gotten up, still in vertigo, holding the headboard to keep his balance. When House said it, he was rubbing his reddish wrists. "You can kiss my fist." He started walking towards House, but just passed beside him, to the door, in the way to the bathroom himself. As soon as House was behind him, he turned again. "And what you can get is the hell out of my sight. Go to your place to watch your fucking movie, but I swear to you, Gregory House," he stepped towards him and pointed at his face "if I get to hear the word 'nymph' from anyone in the next week, I'll castrate you. With a blunt knife."

"I'm sure you'll be a lot more calm and accepting after some time, you'll even thank me. But fine, I'll call a cab and go to my place. I need to pack some things anyway." When Wilson was about to answer, he interrupted. "Don't be mad at me, sweetheart. We still have a party to throw and a wedding to go."

Wilson was about to say something, but he gave up. "God, you still say like you're doing me a favor. You're impossible." he looked at the other with the most indignant look in his face. "It will be really amazing to get married with my wrists bruised. It can make a good 'handcuffed ever after' metaphor. "he gave his back before he felt like saying something else. "See you later, House, just be ready enough until six."

He entered the bathroom, involuntarily slamming the door. As he stopped there, he noticed he was still panting, and looked at his own arms. He didn't care about any possible marks. He didn't care about his ties. He didn't care House had gotten him by surprise or that he dominated him like that. Wilson knew he would really have liked it - that was then what annoyed him the most. Having House teasing him, torturing him that way, making him beg, he would have liked it. Damn, he would surely have loved that. House talked playfully about a sex addiction, and he really never looked it that way, since it wasn't an obsession, but it was really odd how possessed he could turn out to be. And it was amazing to had found someone with whom he could be up to anything, every dare, every kink and fantasy. But the way it was used to get something he didn't want to give from him, how he ended up saying it and what could be the results of this, those things were getting him. He felt vulnerable then, and not in any good way - not surrendered, but fragile. And that was making him so mad then.

House sighed, looking at the plain surface of the door for a while. Wilson was upset, fine, it would be ok again. Some time. Hearing his last name in that way, sounding resented and even hurt, had gotten him like a punch in the stomach. Since they began with all of that, and since they were really together in that situation - the closest to a real couple they'd probably be - it has been silly nicknames, his first name, but he was 'Greg' most of the time. It was nice to be 'Greg'. Not the doctor, not the asshole, not the stranger in a strange land; but the whole story, truly himself in levels that he wouldn't think possible.

The thing with truth was: as long as you didn't keep silly secrets, people would just assume the rest and leave you alone. The little truths, the unimportant facts, hiding the greater things with their shadow. He didn't regret doing what he did to Wilson - he didn't think he'd have the heart to go on without a purpose, and it had been something... He couldn't quite classify. He pictured it all over and over, and it only amazed him more. So, yes, he might have exaggerated a bit considering the purpose. But the means to get it were good by themselves. Way more than good, he thought with a smirk. He mused about that all his way home, with a persistent boner that he still needed to get rid of - there was no need to annoy Wilson even more.

So, there he was, heading home with that reminder of what had just happened, when he could have looked for a tissue and ended it all right there. It wasn't so big a problem, though. He could endure that until getting home. He'd pack everything he needed to the weekend, and then he'd look for the movie. Feral Pleasures. It would probably suck, and he laughed at how he turned it all into that situation for a porn movie. It was crazy, ridiculous, immature - and every second was worth by itself.


	15. Crazy in Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your touch got me looking so crazy right now  
> Got me hoping you'll page me right now  
> Your kiss got me hoping you'll save me right now  
> Looking so crazy in love
> 
> Beyoncé feat. Jay Z, "Crazy in love"

Along that day, Wilson was gradually getting more and more upset about how he couldn't just get House out of his mind for a second. Not that he really expected it to happen; he knew how he was already screwed. And for the day he was away from the sunshine and rainbows world he made up for himself, he wondered too many things. It was like House was testing him, like he wanted deliberately to ruin things a little just in case, to be the manipulative jerk he used to be to see if he wouldn't give up in the last minute. And what for? A movie? To laugh at his face for a stupid thing he did in college and someone turned into a porn? Wilson put some music on, and he just listened to the CDs House had brought, already knowing by heart a few lines on the choruses. Although his wrists were not aching anymore, he kept on rubbing them.

When Amanda called him with details, he got distracted for the while; only to turn off the cellphone staring at his bags. He had everything packed two days ago, but decided to check. However, he was not as nervous as he could be - after managing traveling in one motorcycle, with no change of clothes, and it turned out to be the most amazing weekend of his life, he was sure he could deal with a lot of crazy stuff and lack of planning.

House made things easier when he strained everything to the limit. Wilson remembered that day they stopped in the drugstore to get lube. It was already embarrassing enough; but surely House made it worse when he yelled from the other side of the place. "Oh, now you are buying lube for you, right. When it was me the one taking dick you didn't think twice about breeding me raw without it." The younger still tried to explain it to the cashier, making an effort not to look embarrassed, "He fell of the crib when he was just six months old. Really tragic." But Gregory went on, until there wasn't shame left for Wilson to feel. And then nothing was really that hard. Being exposed in a drugstore wasn't. Traveling without planning wasn't. Lying to the Immigration wasn't. Pretending to be gay in front of the whole hospital he worked on wasn't, nor finding out he was actually gay, or at least really liked men, too. It didn't even seem hard marrying for... what was he even marrying for? To keep his job? If not all of that was hard, why would it be a stupid movie?

Finally with that thought, he could give the first smile. When he counted the clothes he was taking with him, he placed the tuxedos in their plastic bags, side by side, on his bed. They would need to stay married for at least one more year. Could it last like it was until there, or would it turn into a real contract? Could they ruin it and turn life of them both into hell? He remembered just as well each one of his divorces. He sat on the bed, crossing his legs, with a small black velvet case between his fingers. Maybe he shouldn't think about what he felt in his divorces, but what he felt just before saying 'I do' instead. All the times he got married, he hoped to feel just as right with his previous wives as he did when he was with House - even in situations like the one he was in. If even that mad, feeling that outraged and disrespected, he was still sure of that, then he was sure enough. He wasn't the only one betting too high; House was, too. Letting a relationship to grow was to leave the place for it to go its way, and who knew what could happen? If he had never hold him close in that night, under an unknown porch, when their bodies were soaked to the bone, then he wouldn't have to risk. They could go on with a contract as it was in the beginning and he wouldn't have put his American citizenship at stake for something... irrational.

"You're being silly, James." he whispered to himself, breathing in deeply. "You do have something great here, don't just ruin everything with expectations." He opened the small case to look at their rings. Polished, galvanized, seeming brand new, and he chuckled. His life had changed so much in just a few weeks. Entirely. Perhaps definitely. And perhaps things would go wrong. Perhaps he'd have to pick his pieces from the floor and start completely over again. But then, right then, the only thing really hard was imagining Gregory going back to England for them to maybe never see each other again. He looked at his phone for some minutes before calling his fiance.

House picked up the phone on the third time it rang. He had already found the movie, rented it, watched it, laughed until he couldn't breathe. His suitcase was already on the living room, and packing had been kind of entertaining. Wilson's clothes were everywhere, and they had been used, washed, ironed and put somewhere out of the way since the day Wilson first brought them.

Looking for something to eat, he found the milk on the inside of the refrigerator instead of in the door, where he always placed, and it made him smile knowingly. Things were changing very fast, and still he didn't care. He didn't feel nervous or anxious, but that didn't mean he saw that only as his way to stay in the US. He wasn't really thinking about the wedding and its meaning, or how it would be after. His mind wandered on random things, with Wilson always around them. Finding the lube bottle opened over his nightstand, he thought immediately about the day on the pharmacy. "Maybe you should try some cocoa butter for your lips, bunny, they felt a bit dry last night and it distracted me terribly, that's why I've took so long… A nail clipper would be nice too, it's like I'm a sofa cushion full of catnip and you're the mad cat, God, you don't need to mark me to show everybody that I'm yours." Wilson didn't get embarrassed that often anymore and when they walked hand in hand for whatever reason, Wilson had his head held high. There was no need to stare at the ground or the ceiling when there wasn't subject for talking, they already knew how to deal with their silence. There was no need to look away - only when the eyes were just shining too brightly, but then closing the eyes and touching the lips was a much better idea.

By the time the phone rang, he was in the kitchen, drinking some raspberry juice Wilson had left. When he answered the phone, there was already a small smile on his lips, and he spoke, as seriously as he could. "Is this the wild love-god in a world grown too tame?"  
Wilson placed his hand in his face, feeling his cheeks warming, and it took him a second to answer. "No, sorry, wait, isn't it the coffin store for British fiancés? Guess I dialed the wrong number."

House chuckled. "Oh, stop it. You called me, you broke the silence, you're not mad at me anymore." After a small pause, he went on. "I think. Missing me already, sugarcube?"

He rolled his eyes. "Not really. We just happen to have a plane to catch and I need to pick you up. Maybe your upload to XVideos will have to wait."  
"Do you really think I'd let the world know that the nymphs taught you their secrets?" House sounded indignant, trying not to laugh. "You're part stag, but all mine."

In between the nervous sensation of the embarrassment and the funny delight he felt in hearing that, Wilson thought He chuckled when he actually more like giggled quietly. Was House really kissable even when punchable or was he himself just a great giggling idiot ? He scratched the back of his neck and his voice denounced that he was clearly smiling. "You better don't." the tone was still serious, but the attempt to play cool unavoidably distorted it. "The nymphs had not taught anyone else better how to please a man like they did to this stag here. You really better not let this wild chance life gave you pass. You won't find love-gods in every corner."

House's heart was warm, his breath felt easy. And so it was like every time they talked like that, mocking at one another, at themselves, light as a dry leaf falling from a tree./ I'm aware of that. Even if honeymoon happens in between the trees with all the nymphs watching, I know it will be so worth it." House purred the last words, smirking. "I'm ready, Bambi. You can come and pick me up already."

"Just make sure you didn't forget anything crucial. If you need space, you can leave behind superfluous things like underwear." The smile in Wilson's voice then faded, and his tone was of resignation. "I'm on my way, then, raspberry pie. And FYI, I'm still mad at you. Keep that in mind."

"No, you're not." House had a boyish grin upon his face. "I'm waiting for you, gummy bear. And don't forget our tuxedos, unless you're really considering getting married naked. xoxo "He then hung up the phone, chuckling softly. He didn't doubt Wilson was still resenting him for earlier, but he knew it wouldn't last long. The windows were still all opened, and he walked around the place to close them, still grinning.

When House turned off the phone, Wilson clenched his teeth and breathed in deeply, putting his own in the pocket. He was still upset, this wouldn't change - but now he could start to let it go. He picked his luggage and called a taxi. When the driver started a conversation, he went on, just politely, but the guy was upsetting him on how talkative he was. When he was complaining about something, Wilson interrupted him to tell he was going to Vermont to get married and the place they would go before the airport was his fiance's place, avoiding the gender terms.

The driver still talked a lot about his own marriage, but, when they were arriving at House's place, the question came.

"What's the name of the bride?"

"His name is Gregory." Wilson answered, and the taxi driver went completely silent before stuttering and merely saying 'oh'. Wilson had to hold his laughter, and he even felt bad for enjoying so much the uneasiness he caused in the poor man. I'm starting to get some of his wicked humor., he thought, while texting House. Hey, teapot, come outside, I'm in the corner.

House read the message and put his phone back in his pocket. At the door, his cane in a hand and the suitcase in the other, he stared at the living room for a minute. His home, his place, in that country that tried to send him away. The reason he was getting married. Or at least part of the reason. Stopping his musings, he walked out of the door and placed the suitcase on the ground to lock it and open the front door. Two stairs and he was on the sidewalk, seeing already the taxi. The driver left the car to open the boot and put his suitcase there, with Wilson's. House opened the door to sit beside his fiancé. "Hello, dandelion." He closed the door once he got in the car, and approached Wilson for a kiss.

Wilson held House's face with one hand and pressed their lips together, only for a second, but more intensely than it would take for a simple 'hi'. "Hello, angel. " his voice was so sweet that House could read its subtle mocking amidst the letters. There was a restrained smile in his face. He'd convince himself that it was to finish shocking the taxi driver, but he always missed the point. He rest his back in the seat again, sighing in the silence and looking away, smirking softly.

House raised an eyebrow slightly and reached for the hand Wilson kept over the seat. The driver stared at them through the mirror from time to time, looking almost curious. House just grinned.

"Did he tell you the news, cabbie? We're getting married."

The driver nodded. "Yeah, he mentioned. Ahn, how long have you been together?" He sounded awkward, as if just trying to be polite and keeping the conversation on.

"Oh, not very long. But you may know how it is... Sometimes we just feel sure about it with all the heart. And we've got this great synchrony, since the very first time. He always knows what to do to make me lose my mind in bed. The way he looks when we're done, God, it's so beautiful I can't help thinking about how lucky I am."

"Oh, honey, I'm sure he doesn't want to hear it." He smiled hard and squeezed House's hand, looking at the taxi driver. "He gets carried away when he talks about it, you shouldn't've asked." Wilson chuckled, his voice and posture seeming kind. "If you give him the chance he'll even tell you that he usually cries when he comes, repeating to me how lucky he is. Don't let him."

House narrowed his eyes to Wilson, with a sweet smile on his lips. "Oh fluffy bear, this is getting old already. As far as I can remember it is you who cries, always telling me about how I'm your real-life fantasy and how I made you find out about your true nature and set you free from a life of hiding behind crazy relationships. About how much you love to be inside of my arms. Be not afraid of speaking truth, love." He winked at Wilson and watched as the driver casually scratched his head, looking uncomfortable.

Wilson glared back at him, but it was more of a provocation, trying to hold his laughter, than actual anger. "Of course I cry! I always end up crying when he cries, I mean, all we went through to overcome his crack addiction, and we are here, after our battle. We know what love is able to do, we end up crying." Wilson twisted the last word in his voice and it was almost believable he could cry, but it was a restrained laughter. He wiped his dry eyes and smiled hard. "But I don't need to. I'm really happy."

"We've learned so much with each other." House had that amused smile upon his face, and took Wilson's hand to his lips, to kiss its palm softly. "I still have trouble with the eye liner, but he taught me everything about make-up. I don't like it very much, though, it gives me allergy. Plus, I would never look half as pretty as he does with these shiny brown eyes surrounded by black catty eyelashes and that exact touch of pink in his cheeks. It isn't for me, know what I mean? So I leave it for him, who appreciates it so much."

"Oh, don't say this, you learned so well. I myself would never look half as wonderful as you in La Vie en Rose lingerie, it's amazing how this exact brand works out the beauty of the opposites, your violent past and your soft sensuality." As he forced somehow a effeminate tone, he could look at House's eyes for just a moment before feeling too much like laughing, but he went on, though in his normal tone of voice. "These manly traits, I mean, looking at his stubble you wouldn't ever think he is... whoa. I mean, nothing at all. Brazilian." Wilson gesticulated, like awkwardly, to his own legs and crotch, leaving his hand loose in its wrist then. "I can see with him, one need to be waxed to really feel glamorous in a pantyhose, no one can tell me anymore that just shaving is enough."

House's smile couldn't get wider without turning into a loud laugh. He could see Wilson would soon lose it, and the driver was starting to look just too embarrassed and awkward - looked like with just one more they'd be thrown out of the cab. "You sure look a lot more glamorous since you've got rid of that pimp of yours, that man gave only rags for you to dress. The first time I saw you, you were wearing just those fake leather trousers, looking so cold and so helpless. God, I'm so glad we found each other.

Wilson nearly lost it in the 'fake leather trousers', and let go of House's hand to bury his face in his hands. He was still holding on, and bit his inner lips before saying anything. "I get so emotive when you look so happy," his twisted voice could seem of one trying to hold his tears, but soon he wouldn't be able to take it anymore. "I really hope I can be your new dream since you never got to be a Beyoncé dancer."

"If you like it, then you should put a ring on it." House looked at Wilson and raised his left hand, pointing to his ring finger, pressing his lips together to avoid bursting into laughter - but it was unavoidable.

That was the final straw for Wilson, whose laughter denounced them both, and he just surrendered to that. Thankfully he could see the airport through his already teary eyes, and really soon his belly would be aching, because he just couldn't stop it, and he seemed taken over by that attack.

"Are you two... high or something?" the taxi driver frowned, completely indignant "No, don't answer, or I'd have to report."

"No, we're just completely crazy in love." House was laughing helplessly too, and every time they looked at each other it seemed they couldn't help laughing more. After picking up their suitcases, House paid the driver, still chuckling softly. "Keep the change." The man still shot them a last shocked look, and all they could do was laughing some more.

They were by the main door, and in airports the wind is always faster. People coming and going, about to say their hellos and goodbyes, but they remained there for a while, beside the taxi lot and laughing together in that spring evening. The wind whistling could be cold for those to say a farewell, but then, for Wilson, just happened to mess his hair a bit, because he was laughing, with just more to happen for him to welcome. He wiped the tears in his eyes, trying to catch his breath.  
"We must do that again, it was just totally awesome." House said. " Who'd say you had that in you, James Wilson? He won't be able to sleep at night, thinking about the ex-rent boy and the ex-crack addicted on their honeymoon wearing corsets and nylon socks."

"And you said to him to keep the change, this won't pay ten minutes of the months of therapy he's going to need." He placed his hands in his abdomen before putting them on his waist. "God, I need to breathe." He didn't have strength to pick the luggage, and walked to the row of carts to pick one and put them on it. When he came back, the smile was stuck in his face, and he wasn't sure if it had always been there, if he mirrored House's or if House's mirrored his. The thing was, their smiles were always stronger when they met. Wilson'd walk blindly to it, though he could see everything. He stopped by his side again and put their stuff in the cart and looked at House. "Let's go away from this vicious, sick past of ours and walk together towards our actual 'la vie en rose', shall we?"

"The magic spell you cast, this is la vie en rose." House sang, whispering in Wilson's ear. He whistled the song as they walked in the airport, and it just got stuck in his head for what seemed forever. The sky had a deep shade of blue, with no clouds, and a full moon started to rise. Everything felt strange, as if he had just woken up in that place, waiting for the plane that would take them to Vermont, to their wedding. Check-in was done, they had gotten rid of the luggage already, and all that was left for them was waiting. In the departure hall, sit side by side among dozens of other people with dozens of other worries and expectations, they belonged to their small world. Just waiting for another trip that would certainly be unforgettable, in every way. The only thing left to know was whether it would rain or not.

The song really had stuck in Wilson's mind, too, and he realized he knew it because it was in one of Louis Armstrong's albums that he left in his place. Proceeding to embark, it all had its boring details, too many tickets and documents, X-rays, gates and corridors. They were talking causalities and time went by actually fast to the moment they were inside the plane and fastening seat belts.

"Let's try not to get kicked from American Airlines and behave ourselves." Wilson said.

House had and almost hurt expression. "Does it mean no quickies in the bathroom? No getting drunk and shocking all the passengers? We should have taken the road, I knew it."

The flight attendant demonstrated the emergency procedures, and soon they were flying. They unfastened their seat belts, and House held Wilson's hand. The flight would take less than one hour, and he hummed the song, looking through the window at the deep blue sky, with the tiny lights shining on the land below them.  
Wilson leaned on House's armrest, sighing and looking through the window. It was a small plane, and their row only had two seats. They had half an hour left, and suddenly the sentence he said before got boring. He picked a notebook and a pen in his briefcase under the seat, and pulled House's retractable table to upon his lap, placing on it the agenda open in the days of that weekend.

"So, let me just be sure you know the schedule." Before he could even feel House rolling eyes, he turned to him, covering them both with his body. Under the table, his hand slid to House's inner thigh, between his legs, meticulously.  
House was ready to dismiss that subject as soon as he could, but it suddenly got too interesting. His eyes glimpsed with excitation, and he caught his breath slightly, letting it out as a short chuckle. "Oh, I see. Well, I know we'll go straight to the hotel when we land... Am I right?"

"Yes, that's right. When we'll have time for a shower..." After a trip of less than one hour, before which they had already took a shower, they would hardly need another one so soon, but the implied idea was quite clear when the hand slid to House's groin, the fingers closing carefully around each shape in the jeans crotch. After that quick pause, he licked his lips. "Then we meet Amanda for dinner at nine. She's a bit overexcited when it comes to her work, but really delightful. We'll schedule photos, there are this things here that we need to confirm. "He made a circle with the pen in the paper with his left hand, and right afterwards the thumb of his right hand also drew a circle in House's jeans. "You know we'll need, just make a bunch of stupid poses and get it over with. After that, we'll have this night completely free..." he even moved a bit his shoulder when he closed tighter the fingers of his right hand, grabbing House.

His face showed that dare in his narrowed eyes for a second. In the next breath, he had the same attentive, adorable face as would fit not Greg's James there, but Dr. Wilson.  
House felt the heat rising in his groin with each move of Wilson's hand, and he bit his inner lip for a second, before grinning, delighted. "It sounds nice. A bath will be amazing, I heard the night will be hot in there. If we don't feel that tired, we can even take a walk after dinner." His eyelids fluttered before he actually closed his eyes, with a twisted smile on his lips. "Some exercise, it always makes it easier to fall asleep. Maybe some massage afterwards." He looked at Wilson's lips for a while, then at his eyes, daring him to go on, daring him to expose them.

"I like your ideas. Weather forecast told that today it would be between fifty six and forty seven degrees..." Wilson looked away, as if just wondering something casual, but his hands kept on steady where they were. "yeah..." He looked back at House, inching to the side as if to say something on the other's ear, nearly hiding his face between House's and the backrest. "the night will be steaming hot." He whispered, grabbing House tighter once more, letting his nose and his lips skim in House's ear while he said the last words. It wasn't even near sarcasm - though it was a cold climate, his words sounded exactly as he meant them. When he pulled back his head, his eyes deviated to the table and he closed the notebook.

"We'll soon start our descent." He said, though the lights on the plane weren't on yet. "So, seat backs and tray tables need to be in their full upright position." He used the hand that was between House's legs to push the tray table up to its position. "You should fasten your seat belt, daisy."  
Although his body was eager for more, House kept on with his amused smile, delighted at how Wilson could change from the kind doctor to that daring reckless lover, anytime. Like two completely different men, and still the same; parts of Wilson that completed each other perfectly to make him that discreet wonder, only for eyes that could really perceive it.

"It's a pity we'll land so early, I was quite enjoying our little talk. Well, I'm sure we'll go on with it later, won't we? There's still a lot to discuss."

"Perhaps." He looked at House with the corner of his eyes, wearing a smirk, but it twisted as he frowned. "Did I just say 'Perhaps', and with an open 'a'?"

"Yes, but you're still pronouncing too much the 'r'. Don't worry, you're still quite American." House winked.

Meanwhile, the voice of the Captain announced that in 15 minutes they would be landing in Burlington International Airport, which is now 56 degrees with mild wind, to be soon followed by the voice of the flight attendant with descent and landing procedures.


	16. Champagne kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I count every kiss  
> Till I'm finally sleeping  
> This love supreme  
> That's why I'll always give in
> 
> Jessie Ware, Champagne Kisses

 

The landing was uneventful, and soon they were on their way to the hotel. It was a beautiful city - but then again, every city could be beautiful at night. House breathed slowly, caressing Wilson's hand with his thumb lightly, staring through the window. Every look at his fiancé brought a grin with it, inevitably, and he wondered if he would feel any different when they exchanged rings and get it all over.

 _Nothing will change, not essentially at least._  he thought, even convinced of that, but there was a tiny hint of something growing in him with each step they took in the way to their wedding. The hotel was elegantly built in the centre of the city, and it seemed their story would just grow from hotel to hotel. House was about to share that thought with Wilson, but that same something held him back. He felt ridiculous for that, but it wasn't important anyway.

Carrying their luggage, they approached the counter.

"We've got a booking, Gregory House and James Wilson." House said.

"Oh, right, the fiancés. Let me see, room 611. I'll get the room key for you." The attendant smiled politely and turned to face a large wood surface where the keys were hung.

They were walking down an elegant corridor, while a young brunet man was carrying their luggage in an appropriate cart and showing the way.

"Isn't it odd how people always seem to make this "awn, how cute" face when they look at us?" House whispered in Wilson's ear.

"Of course. We are super cute together when we are not embarrassing people to death. I often feel people look at us more like 'oh god why are these faggots telling me about their intimate lives?'. But it's good to be in a place they think we're lovebirds and everything is accepted and welcomed." he held House's index finger carefully with the tip of his fingers. "Not that it has been any sort of impediment so far."

House held Wilson's hand. "Come on, I know you find it awfully funny." Whispering, he went on. "I mean, who wouldn't be interested in the amazing story of the rent boy and the crack addicted saved by the power of love? We should sell the idea to that director friend of yours, I bet it would be a masterpiece." He smiled brightly when Wilson glared at him, and stole a quick kiss. "We are just training to piss Tritter off, I want him begging us to stop talking. The asshole will wish I was born American." House said, and proceeded to open the door of room 611

"This isn't the best approach, we need to be careful. But I have to admit, I want to tell him everything. In details. Or kiss deeply in front of him. I'm just afraid he actually gets off on it, then we'll have a skilled voyeur following us." He entered the room after House, followed by the man carrying their luggage, now in hands. The employee placed them beside a window seat, while kindly explaining where it was everything in the room, about room services and the schedules, even mentioning Amanda. Wilson would want to look at the firebricks fireplace, at the dark scarlet couch, the beige walls. Or to the wide window, with an elegant window seat with white cushions and framed by carmine voile courtains. Or even the image through it, of hills and the Winooski River, was made of of dark shapes glimmered by the moonlight, but he wasn't looking at it. In front of the said window, there was the huge bed, covered in red and pink rose petals. He couldn't stop glancing at it.

"And a courtesy of the Hotel, for the husbands-to-be." The man pointed gestured to a silver bucket in the left nightstand, with ice cubes, a champagne and two crystal glasses. House remained silent while Wilson thanked the man, giving him a tip, smiling kindly until the other left the room, closing the door. Wilson placed his hands in his waist, as if about to give a nervous laughter.

"This dreamy hotel bedroom, rose petals and champagne _on the house_." The younger said, in a hoarse voice, like he was narrating something dramatic, as he walked to the side of the bed. "Excuse me while I lay down naked on the bed and do the American Beauty." he opened his arms a bit and fell laid down in the king-sized bed.

"You're doing it wrong, you're still wearing your clothes." House left his cane leaning on the wall, and looked around. The room was beautiful and elegant, and it became even more comfortable when House turned off some of the lights. Throwing his jacket over the sofa, he walked in the bed's direction. "Well, I remember we were having quite a nice talk in the plane. Would your friend mind if we arrived a little late for dinner? We've got a whole room to explore." He sat on the bed, and his hand reached for Wilson's knee, to caress it up to groin, running his palm over the fabric that covered Wilson's inner thigh. The soft smell of roses touched his nostrils and he inhaled deeply.

When Wilson opened his eyes at the ceiling, feeling House's hand sliding in his thigh, he unavoidably smiled, feeling a quick, sharp excitement running up his spine, about everything and nothing in particular. There were rose petals around him and those sheets were remarkably soft - maybe there weren't any threads more or less than daily bed linen, but there it felt like embracing him, caressing him. He really wanted to lay over that fabric with his fiancé, and, for that moment, he wanted to pull him to that bed so he'd kiss him breathless. In that moment, he really just wanted this, to kiss him - though his body would most surely tell him to shorten his breath, speed his blood, get rid of clothes and go further as they already knew well. But there he wanted to just kiss him, and when he was done he would kiss him more, and still with his lips aching he'd kiss him again and they'd roll in that huge bed with petals all over their clothes. He'd recover his breath with air filled with scent of roses and again time was uncountable. He sat down and pulled House by his clothes, to press their lips together. Maybe his idea would have a problem; his lips could hardly help but twist in smiles.

A sweet, unhurried kiss, experienced, confident, strong in its languidness. House felt like touching Wilson's face, and he was already doing it; he felt like tasting the lower lip caught in between his own lips, and his tongue was already touching Wilson's slowly. When the younger denied him a kiss earlier, angry and resented, House noticed how much he liked to kiss Wilson, thin lips that left him addicted and helpless. How much he loved to feel desired that way, and how it felt good to think it wasn't desire only. So he let himself be kissed, and kissed back, with too many soundless words in between. It felt like his heart never ached so much or been so warm, like his sureness was ten thousand times greater and his doubts, ten thousand times heavier.

His hand slid into Wilson's hair, like many times before, and suddenly he was smiling inside that kiss too, and how could they be so foolish? He separated their faces just slightly and stared into the warm brown eyes, and for a second his own were full of amazement. From time to time he remembered about how nothing of that was real, but it happened too rarely for him to give it a damn. He moved to sit ever nearer Wilson, with their gazes locked in each other being interrupted only when they closed their eyes for another brush of lips.

Within that kiss, Wilson pushed House's shoulders. As the other let himself fall laid in the mattress, he went up his body, kneeling by his side and aligning their faces. He looked at the ridiculously blue eyes and realized suddenly how open was his own smile, because he saw the one glowing in the other's entire expression as a mirror. Suddenly, Wilson caught his breath and the smile even turned slightly embarrassed. There, it was like he was seeing that smile in House's expression for the very first time, though he knew he had seen it even frequently, in the past weeks. Like the grumpiest boss alive and the most manipulative jerk ever was… happy? Would he dare to say that? Because he, Wilson, he was happy, he knew it.

He kissed House's lips again to stop that wondering, and, just pressing his mouth against the other's, he breathed out, as if he could sigh as in too much relief. His hand slid down his chest to his abdomen, over the ribs, and he broke the kiss. "Did you say you wanted to go on with that talk we had in the plane?" he kissed him again, the same close-mouthed kiss, and his hand stopped under House's belly button. He remained with his nose beside the other's, speaking against his mouth. "I didn't know how worried you are about the schedule. We should really go out of here and go to the dinner."

"But I'm not hungry." House whispered against Wilson's lips, closing his eyes delighted as he felt the fingers wandering over his shirt, anticipating the moment when they'd touch his bare skin. His own hands ran up the other's arms until he was holding the his shoulders, pulling him for another kiss. It wasn't even about sex this time - though it always was. His mind was set on Wilson, in a sweet conscious surrendering to that feeling.

Wilson leaned his forehead in House's. "Oh, maybe if you want to get some, you're the one going through some torture first." He skimmed the tip of his nose's in House's cheek, until he kissed his earlobe, as if his words weren't connected to the meaning. "I just guess I'm not as fun as you are. You don't deserve all fun and games. Or maybe I'm not that kind of girl, maybe I'll keep chaste until after my wedding." He chuckled, mockingly, as his hand grabbed House's waist briefly.

"Oh, about that. Do you remember that day when we were in the dark and you asked me what I was doing with my hand between your legs? Well... It wasn't my hand." House faked an awkward apologizing face. "Just don't tell your parents, I promise we're getting married anyway. I don't care about your purity or chastity that much." He smirked and tried to reach Wilson's lips with his, but the younger just retracted his head backwards, grinning. House sighed. "Think of all the work the maids had to throw rose petals all over the mattress just so we could have some awesome ground-breaking sex."

"I love it when you are romantic." Wilson put his leg in the other side oh House's body. "Trust me, my valorous man, there's nothing I'd want more than making love to my cherished husband until the people in the room under ours are genuinely afraid their chandelier is going to fall to the ground." Wilson grabbed a handful of roses petals and let them fall in House's, playfully, sitting on the other's hips with an indefectible grin.

House chuckled, placing his hands on Wilson's thighs. "You said 'husband'."

"Yes, I did." He didn't lose any millimeter of his grin. "Which means soon," his fingers wandered to House's chin, holding it. " _but not now. "_ He narrowed his eyes, as if in a provocation, but his grin turned into a smile. Soon, really soon - he bit his inner lip weakly.

"Oh, so you're really planning to wait until the wedding. That's an awful amount of time, beloved, especially for you." House's voice sounded really concerned, and he caressed Wilson's thighs; his chest covered in the petals Wilson threw on him. "I even understand your mild anxiousness with this dinner, you can't just cancel things without feeling as if the weight of the world was about to fall over your shoulders. But after the dinner... Nothing will be holding us." The last words were whispered in a low voice, and he grabbed the sides of Wilson's hips.

Wilson's hands slid to House's chest and grasped its muscles. He made a forcingly pained face. "I know. Tonight, an entire Saturday and the whole day on Sunday..." he moved slowly his own hips forth and back, rubbing against House's crotch softly. "It's too much time to waste playing virgin in such a perfect place like this." he bent his body over House's, again talking against his mouth, their noses side by side. "I am aware of how much I want it, I think we made it clear. When we come back, just remind me how much  _you_  want it." he kissed the corner of House's lips. "You know I can't resist when you ask me really nicely. I don't know, maybe it's the way the word "please" comes out of your mouth, in this hoarse voice, usually in panting breath and British accent."

"Oh, Jewish foreplay. I should have seen it coming. It's just fair, after all." House said, breathing slowly over Wilson's lips. "Don't you feel like trying to make me beg right now? Our sweating skins all covered by rose petals, our bodies held so close against each other..." His hands pushed Wilson's shirt so he could hold his waist under it freely, to feel the warm skin on his fingertips. Wilson's body was delineated by the poor lighting, and his face was barely illuminated from the light coming from the window.

Wilson grinned again, even if those hands in his skin always meant halfway to losing his control. "Let me tell my dear yankee-to-be a tea time story." In that intro he still sounded like narrating, but it stopped. Once I missed an all access Monster Truck rally invitation in Princeton because I had a dinner scheduled with a friend from Short Hills that was in town. The end. Moral of the fable:" He held House's wrists and took his hands off his body. "You're not getting any right now." He smiled and pulled his leg back to the same side of House's body, beside the other one, letting go of House's hands.

"No fucking way!" House's voice sounded a tone higher, in indignation. "God, don't you have any priorities? How can you just let things go because of other people? Jesus." He nodded in disbelief, sitting on the bed. "All access, I can't believe you."

In fact, he could. It was so like Wilson to never let people down, whoever it was, to satisfy personal needs. Some could thought of it as a touching way of living; House couldn't think like that. Something passed through his mind, and he soon dismissed it - the thought that Wilson was going through all of that with him just to help him, as he surely needed. He was sure the younger wanted him around, but did he want him or he only wanted him  _enough_? It was folly to think about that, to ruin his own happiness like that. Because maybe he could call it happiness. He wanted to. Narrowing his eyes, he sighed. "Fine." House chuckled and moved towards Wilson to kiss him briefly.

"And don't make a scene." Wilson smirked when his lips were free, holding House's face with the tip of his fingers and skimming lightly and quickly with his thumb on the older's lips. "It's not like I broke your heart with the shocking truth that I care too much about people." He got up, getting rid of the petals that were still in his clothes, tiding his shirt while saying and walking to his luggage to pick his blazer. "And if were able to let people down and not this caring, we wouldn't even be here, right?" He put on his coat, chuckling. "I would have told you to fuck off like anyone should."

"Of course you would." House's tone was light, but it was funny to hear that right when he was thinking about it. He gave Wilson an odd smile and got up, to wear his jacket, still with some petals on his clothes. "Let's go, I'm dry for a glass of wine." He stopped by the door, opening it and waiting for the younger.

"And Amanda has the best taste for wines." Wilson was putting the champagne in the mini-fridge before walking to his fiancé. He stopped in front of him to pick a petal from his collar - when he gave his back to pass through the door, House grabbed his ass willingly, what could only make him laugh.

...

When they arrived at the dining room, a blonde with dark lipstick and nails got up to greet them. She was elegant with her thin gold bracelets and her intense, kind smile. House immediately looked down to her shoes, discreetly, but not enough it seemed, as she noticed and smiled.

"They are from Jimmy Choo's last collection, if you're wondering. You must be Gregory".

House nodded and accepted her handshake, smiling, and they had their seats.

It hadn't been as boring as House thought it could be, and Wilson couldn't put a single defect in the dinner if it wasn't for the fact that it was in the way of being alone in the room again with House. There weren't any discussion about cloth napkins or flowers to put on a table; they chatted for about an hour and a half about trivialities and the serious stuff was hid in between the mocking words. She went on with all House's jokes, especially when he mentioned that if she saw a blue-eyed blonde she should ' _put a forked stick around her neck and put her in a glass jar with alcohol, it's a nice decoration for a lab_ ', and even when she couldn't understand ' _you'll think she's bringing a gun, but it's just Wilson's blow dryer._ '

They joked together about Wilson's taste on women, but at the same time Amanda made it pretty clear in her mocking words that she'd cut House to pieces if he hurt Wilson. She seemed so delighted in organizing that event, even when overloaded, that Wilson wondered if she was only that thankful to him or if she also enjoyed too much being part of all that lifetime dream that a wedding could be. Wilson tried to remind her that there would be no more than twenty people in that party, and that she was a guest more than everything, but she seemed to be hiding something - like someone too eager to deliver a present that can't even hold back the excitement. But it could be just her joy, and Wilson dismissed any further thoughts.

House had to admit it: Amanda was nice. A sharp and practical mind that always aimed for the neat and had a great sense of judgement, with a sensibility for details and a wisdom that resembled empathy - but also some sparks of excitement that seemed to blur her seriousness in a nearly odd way. He could see that her attention was completely theirs, and she took notes during dinner as they talked, just single-word sentences, in a tiny notebook.

The meal was also delicious, she chose the best wine he had in ages and she was the one who said what they were hoping to hear.

"Just go away, you two. You're wasting your time with me when you could be enjoying your room. I think I made all details really clear, we can talk tomorrow. Tell me when you wake up if you're going to the hotel's breakfast _."_  She told again and again how they were such a beautiful couple, how they went along so well, and how she was loving the way they looked at each other - and, before the goodnight, she said it again.

In a gap of time that wouldn't be more than two hours, they were back to that same door of the room 611; Wilson was opening it, then, and he was the one grabbing House's ass, giving the other a naughty smile as he turned to him. The same dim lights, the same petals over the mattress, the champagne in a bucket.

House walked back in Wilson's direction, to get him by his collar and kiss him, taking slow steps backwards until he felt the edge of the mattress touching his calf muscles. He was smiling inside that kiss, a bit lazily, as if he was tired. Speaking against Wilson's lips, he whispered. "So, husband-to-be, what do you think about opening that champagne bottle now, uhn?"

Wilson didn't answer right away; he first kissed House's neck a few times. "I'll get it, you can get rid of your T-shirt in the meanwhile." he said beside his face, and stepped back breathing heavily, smirking. He walked to the other side of the room and he was still wearing a smile to the carpeted floor, at the burgundy tones. The light in the mini fridge was way stronger than he imagined, and it even shone against the silver details in the bottle. "If you really need the glasses,you can pick them in the nightstand."

"Who needs glasses, let's do body shots with some expensive champagne." House threw his T-shirt at Wilson, missing his head for a few centimetres. Grinning, he unbuttoned his jeans and stepped out of his shoes, sitting on the bed to take his pants off.

When Wilson was walking back to the bed with the bottle in hands, he pictured some tragicomic image of him popping the champagne and the stopper flying to the window or to an eye of one of them and the injured would have to get married wearing an eyepatch. He nearly shared that thought with House, but he opened the bottle with that known sound and the whole situation would tell him he'd better use his lips differently. When House had his jeans in his ankles, Wilson bent in front of him and kissed his lips, leaving the bottle in the other's hands and loosening the buttons of his own shirt.

One of House's hands held the bottle, and the other went up to touch Wilson's neck and hold his nape, to deepen the kiss. The shirt fell on the floor somewhere, and it was funny how his fiancé seemed not to care about his clothes when he was in such a moment. Their skins seemed to aim for each other, and that contact always brought an anxiousness blended with the sensation of being safe; wonderful and absurd when said aloud. To say House couldn't get enough of Wilson's touches would be just stating the obvious again and again, and when their lips parted he pressed them together once more, briefly, before drawing back his head and taking a large sip of the champagne, staring longingly at Wilson's bare torso.

Right after House took the mouth of the bottle off his lips, Wilson kissed him, leaning his hands on the other's bare shoulders. It started delicate, fitting their lips together gently, and in the following seconds it intensified for Wilson to taste clearly the even slightly sour flavor of the champagne in the other's mouth. When House pulled his body upper in the bed, Wilson unbuckled his own belt and let his trousers drop. As he placed his hands and knees in the bed and crawled to be closer to House again, for one moment his mind deviated to the scene they were in - moonlight and champagne, the petals still there, tuxedos and gold rings. He couldn't put it into sense, he never could - but there he just dared to feel exactly as one should before his own wedding, because he wanted what the day meant: it meant  _'I want you to be by my side'_. And Wilson just wouldn't choose differently. As he knelt between House's slightly bent legs and sat on his feet, he held the bottle by the neck and drank himself a large sip. Not intentionally, but probably led by something unconscious, he smirked and dried the corner of his mouth with the tip of his fingers, looking deeply at House's eyes.

House grinned as well, holding Wilson's chin gently and looking from his eyes to his lips before inching his head closer to press his own lips against the corner of Wilson's mouth, moistened by the liquor. He placed kisses down the younger's neck, smiling briefly at the image of Wilson wearing several hickeys partially hidden by his collar while saying "I do". He kissed and he licked the soft skin of the chest right before his eyes, of the man who had somehow become the savouring wine that intoxicated his quotidian with an almost unbearable lightness and joy, and he could be reverent, and he could touch as if it was just his natural right - he was astonished and yet feeling comfortably at home, all the time, delighted at the little wonders hid in between the common features.

Wilson couldn't say he smiled, because he almost couldn't remember doing the opposite. He sat down beside House and pushed him laid with his free hand.

"Well, I can try to lick it from you, but it will probably end up a mess and I'll probably laugh if I really realize how Beverly Hills New Year's party this is. But you know, I..." He raised the bottle over House's body carefully, covering almost completely the mouth of the bottle with his thumb, leaving just a small hole through which he let champagne drip just a bit over House's chest. The muscles of the other's abdomen contracted with the cold contact, but he let Wilson spill cautiously a small line of sparkling liquid tracing down his thorax, draining to the sides and puddling just a little over his sternum. "I kind of liked your idea." He grinned to House before letting the other hold the bottle and he climbed over his body in one, steady movement - though every movement in order to lick it from House's skin, drop by drop, would be languidly slow.

House doubted any fancy New Year's party would feel like that or be so sensuously spontaneous - it always seemed to him that planning killed some of the enjoyment. Wilson's tongue moved unhurriedly over his chest, and his breath assumed a weird rate as he tried to hold it and not to hold it at the same time. The look in his fiancé's eyes was tantalizing by itself, suggesting further exploits, craving the time for getting less soft-core and yet appreciating that too much to just go directly to the point. Heat spread from his abdomen to his whole body, and he let out a soft breath that sounded a bit louder than the others, closing his eyes with his lips still parted. The lips touching his left nipple moved in an almost tentative way, slow enough for him to feel each rise in the delight taking over his self.

The smell of champagne blended with the roses, and he could as well be drunk and all of that be just a vivid dream - it didn't matter right then. His light greyish-blue eyes opened to stare into the deep brown ones, the cold sky over warm soil where everything could take root and grow strongly. Walking on air versus landing with bare feet on the ground, an exchange of sensations that happened everyday, with each glance, each smile, magnified by the desire that kept them warmed up in the chilly night in Vermont, with a silliness that suited them well enough to make the scene look just beautiful instead of tawdry foreplay.

Staring at House's eyes got easier and easier with time; like there was hardly something to hide, even when there were things he couldn't confess with words. The unsaid words were like the shadows cast by the dim lights there - it wasn't hiding, but delineating the clear shapes, implying, insinuating. Wilson kissed softly House's lips and those kisses roamed to the older's face, skimming in the cheekbones and in the stubble. Wilson leaned on his forearm, while the other hand was stroking House's jaw. His eyes closed too softly, like they could flutter, while he pressed his lips in House's sideburn, to let the tip of his nose into his hair. He breathed in deeply and nuzzled in it, smiling again. It smelled like House's shampoo, which he already knew the brand, which he already knew where it was placed inside his shower box. And it smelled just as amazing as champagne and roses - making it all even more blissful, because it was an unique moment to seize, but that didn't felt like ending with a change of sheets. He felt House's hand in his body, his lips kissing tenderly his shoulder, and he pulled his body down again; kissing House's forehead, the tip of his nose and his lips again.

With a chuckle that sounded like a giggle, Wilson tried again with the champagne bottle; that time, a bit more, in House's belly button. But before retreating his arm and giving the bottle to House again, he went down dripping the champagne - still controlling the flow, he wet House's underwear. Although he was raising his shoulders like he was daring and expected some reaction or something to happen, he just gave a smirk and bit his tongue. "Sorry about it, but your white underwear was asking for this." He took a quick sip himself and gave the bottle back to House, licking his lips, and by his expression one could clearly see he wasn't sorry at all.

"Will you lick it  _all_? Not only the champagne, I mean." House's voice was husky, and he was clearly enjoying that. Before Wilson lowered himself once more to his torso, House gulped the fizzy liquor and exhaled slowly, humming in the end when he felt Wilson's mouth on the waistband of his boxers. It wasn't easy to just lie there, being tasted and touched by Wilson without touching back, when he wanted so hard to feel the texture of his hair while kissing him deeply, but it felt too good for him to stop it. It felt good in many levels - physically, emotionally, aesthetically even - and the way Wilson touched him, like he was more than worth all that attention, all that caressing; all the caring and dedication. It was amazing how the younger could do all of that without making House feel his own neediness being shoved into his face with poor charity disguised as care. He could allow himself into that blissful uncertainty that lived in every human relationship, because if it came to an end, he could feel hurt but not ashamed of himself for trusting. He could surrender his heart to Wilson, completely, in a dreamy fairytale city, and not feel pathetic. His fingers were messing the dark brown hair, gently, and he chuckled when Wilson's lips touched a ticklish point, moving his hips automatically, and shrugging slightly afterwards when the younger glanced at him.

Wilson held the wet piece of clothing and slid it carefully off of House's legs. There, hearing only their breaths and leaving the man under his body wearing nothing but that grin of his, Wilson leaned his hands in the other's hips – feeling a rose petal under his palm. House asked if he'd lick it all - yes, he would, and so he did, until he couldn't taste champagne anymore in his skin, and the excuse was over. House was hard enough and all that tasting could turn into actual sucking. And even when everything was slow, unhurried, there wasn't any lack of intensity; in a calm, but irreversible, strength, in low heat from the soft, affectionate kisses when they were in each other's arms to House's hands in his hair, truncated breath and that peculiar, throbbing pressure against his throat and on his tongue.

But Wilson didn't continue to when he could bring House that vertiginous want. He didn't want him to be brought to irrationality in that desperation pleasure could bring. Not that acute as a quick orgasm, though. Their pleasure together felt chronic, spread not only to that summit, but to thoughts and to every inch of their bodies. He took his mouth off of him and panted briefly while inching up House's body. His mouth was always close to House, around shadows and shapes, fast breath against moist skin, until their faces were aligned again. He was still with his underwear. Not that he didn't want it off, but it was like it was House's turn to decide what he would do about it all.

House's hands slowly ran over Wilson's back, their eyes connected, until his hands were under the boxers and pressing the hips against his own in that same slow firmness of movements, two, three times before pushing it down clumsily to Wilson's thighs, just enough for the other to raise his body and finish taking it off. Then it was skin against skin only, and they just breathed against each other's lips for a while. His hands went back to Wilson's hips, and he moaned softly with his mouth on the younger's neck as he felt their erections rubbing against each other. They could try everything, every position, everywhere in that room, but that was not the point. They could keep it simple when all that mattered was the pressure of their bodies moving together, aiming for the same sweet relief of when the rain falls at the end of an impossibly hot and dry week.

Wilson sank inside that completeness as he had that desire of his so deeply fulfilled; he was kissing House again and again and once more. When Wilson was under the other's body, he let out his first moan, letting his head fall to the pillow. He was staring at the shadowed ceiling, enraptured by pleasure. Sweating, lips kissing his neck and his shoulder, hands holding so tightly and precisely his waist, hips rubbing and entwined legs. He wrapped his arms in House's torso and pressed hard the skin under his fingers, over his shoulder blades. He was holding House so tightly his arms would tremble - because that amount of will was too delighting, and he was permanently in the edge of not being able to take it. This time, it was amazingly coordinated, like they were following a choreography in a moment in which they wouldn't think rationally to dance in the right steps. The thing was - one's irrational will was exactly towards the other's. Then he was on top of House again, and he laughed as the rose petals fell from his shoulders to the other's chest. He laughed easily, out of complete joy, and he ran his hand through his own hair, wiping the sweat off his forehead and leaning his hands in the mattress on both sides of House's head, kissing him again with insistently smiling lips.

The advantage of that great bed was that it made it difficult for them to fall from it - what didn't mean it was impossible. Once or twice House feared turning to the wrong side and pulling Wilson to the floor with him, in that coordinated mess of limbs as they rolled over the mattress, over rose petals, over snow white sheets stained with wet marks of champagne. He kissed Wilson's skin and felt harder kisses over his own; the younger smiled and House smiled wider. He moaned and Wilson breathed loudly; he let out a breathless laugh and the other, a helpless howl. He stopped moving to kiss his fiancé's lips, in an attempt to make it last a bit more, to make it endure for the rest of his life, to live inside that feeling forever. That was when Wilson rolled on top of him, to take control, to keep rubbing their hips together in that perfect pace, and caused him to moan louder, to hold the other's waist and hips firmer, to sink more and more inside that burning need. There was no hurry, but it would soon come a time when it would be impossible to just contain that much desire in passionate kisses and caressing hands. His lips parted more and more, and he called "James", breathlessly, knowing he wouldn't last any longer. His fingers let go of Wilson's hair in the last second, to avoid grabbing it too hard, and his hands fell on the mattress, as he gave in to that strong force pushing his body down and moving it upwards at the same time, as he rose high among sweat, petals and the discreet smell of alcohol evaporating.

That hot mess had last long - Wilson couldn't count time in minutes or hours, but in how many times he felt like his heart was going to explode from that much tachycardia; how many times he stopped for them both to drink a sip of champagne because they had sweat themselves out and breathed too much through their mouths; how many times he swore really low, humming, lowering his voice until it would become just a breathless call, and in some truncated adjustment of syllables that could be understood as 'Gregory', he called desperately. That time that shattered itself each time he heard House's voice calling 'James', each petal that glued to their sweaty backs and each turn one of them was on top while rolling in that bed, the time in between each laughter of joy, pleasure and disbelief in that glorious night they were into and that twisted time they had only for themselves.

When House let go of his hair and seemed unable to hold on anymore, Wilson raised his body and leaned both hands in the other's shoulder; both to keep steadied movements, taking his last breath to push his hips harder, and also to watch House's features. He wanted to see as House was starting to arch his spine, rolling his eyes and collapsing in a rapturous expression that wasn't even the suffering desperation that was starting to take Wilson over - it was the zenith itself. The younger would take a pair of minutes longer, if he was able to count time in that way.

He laid over House's then slick torso, placing his head beside his and grabbing the other's waist , moaning louder. In an incoherent, anxious movement, he held House's hand, fallen on the mattress. When then he was coming, Wilson had pushed that hand above House's head and entwined their fingers, grabbing it more than he should, as he leaned his forehead in House's shoulders. His mouth opened wide after he clenched hard his jaw like he intended to break something in between his teeth, and that was his final second, if there were such thing as seconds.

House breathed heavily over the skin of Wilson's shoulders, as the other was trying not to fall over his body, panting hard. His free hand caressed the younger's hair, softly, without even acknowledging it. His eyes opened to the ceiling, and he chuckled weakly, for no reason, feeling his body almost numb as he fell from that apex like a feather floating on air. Lazily, he turned his head slightly to the side, to kiss Wilson's sweaty temple, partially covered by his hair.

"God." Wilson let himself say, also chuckling, out of breath, puffing. He opened his hand and freed the hand he was holding, feeling his fingers aching where he squeezed their phalanxes. He caressed House's palm as if in an unconscious apology, smiling as he was feeling the lips pressed beside his face. He slowly raised his head and kissed House's mouth, feeling that heavy vertigo taking his sight. Running his fingers in House's arm until reaching his shoulder, he picked the petals along the way. The moon was high in the sky, and he could see it through the window. "We're only getting better at this." Wilson whispered, again so dizzy he couldn't even think about it, as his fingers were sliding in sweat on the side of House's torso, until his hand rested in his hipbone.

"Practice makes perfect, isn't it what everybody says?" House lifted his head a bit to lean it over his arm, smiling back at the dazed face of his lover, knowing his own face wasn't much different. "Of course, in our case, we've been awesome since the very beginning." Grinning, he pressed his lips against Wilson's once more, parting them just enough to capture his fiancé's upper lip in between his own, gently. "It was certainly worth the broken bones in my hand, I'd do it all again."

Wilson laughed weakly as he was sliding his hands up House's body again, keeping the silly smile against House's lips. "We have always been so awesome, haven't we?" he held the other's wrist and brought it closer to their heads. He turned his face and pressed the back of House's hand against his lips, kissing repeatedly his fingers in some kind of playful apology, until he just pressed House's hand against his smiling mouth in a final close-mouthed kiss and looked at the blue irises that were still colored even in the shadows of the room.

"Well, we should raise a toast to ourselves and our obvious awesomeness, then. How much champagne do we have left?" Stretching his arm to the nightstand, House picked the bottle and shook it clumsily, listening to the liquid colliding against the glass. "I guess there's enough for the both of us, but you've already drank so much, huggy bear, I think I'll just finish it."

"Don't be selfish." Wilson crawled to the other nightstand and picked the two crystal glasses beside the silver bucket with one hand. It was a sudden movement for his still dazed mind, and, when he came back to between House's legs, he had to lean in his free hand on the other's chest, offering him a glass. "A proper toast, shall we? As we are wearing rose petals, sweat, cum and champagne as party clothes. Let's cheer to that." he smirked, still breathing heavily.

House chuckled at Wilson's dizziness, and held one of the glasses. "Fair enough." He poured the champagne in the two glasses. "To the best of all the parties for two, and to all the future ones that will surpass it." Winking, he raised his glass and let its border touch Wilson's glass, softly, before drinking. He drank in honour of their partnership, of Wilson, of every touch and every kiss they exchanged. For all the fun they were having, and for everything they treasured in each other.

As Wilson drank what was left of that champagne, that was not even bubbly anymore, he cheered to that night and to them, silently to himself, without taking his eyes off of House. He wanted to frame that scene they were in inside his mind, wondering if he could look at it any harder to never forget it. When he emptied his glass and kissed House again, he was pretty sure he wouldn't. He had the shadows drawn behind his eyes, all of House's muscles, along those lines that drew House's expression, from his smile to his agony. He was still vibrating in the echo of the moans, the loud breaths and the bed structure forcing. He was still smelling the champagne like his nose was still rubbing in wet skin, or the perfume of House's hair like he was kissing his head. And though memories can fade, everything was another brick building it all, like it was too solid and only hammering it he could crumble it down.

When they were laid together again, to sleep, after a shower and a change of sheets, he had a late night feeling that he was fooling himself. Like his brain couldn't just cope with that much amazement and that much fun, always, but it was easy to forget when he had House's body beside his to cuddle. He felt under his arm the moisture from where the champagne had wet the mattress, and smiled. He came nearer with his pillow, placing his hand on House's chest, and looked through the window, thinking about roses, without actually realizing what exactly, blinking slowly and heavily. In his longest blink, he kissed House's temple and breathed in, chuckling when he smelled his own shampoo, which they used in that shower together. It was a lot about scents, and he loved how that felt like the moment was by itself filling his lungs and around his heart. When he noticed how much his mind was wandering, he closed his eyes, and, still not saying a word, he placed his left hand in House's chest.

House's thoughts wandered in between the past and the present, picturing all those scenes he held dear in his heart and feeling Wilson's breath become softer over his neck. All the expressions he had seen upon that face, all the sounds he heard from that mouth, all the touching, all the words, every variation of the man that had just fell asleep in his arms, and he was it all at the same time, completely himself in every situation. The tangible truth in each of his lover's actions and reactions and how he could contradict himself without really doing it, being more than black and white but beyond the visible spectrum. House would just walk around in circles with never finding the exact thing that made him fall so helplessly in that magnificent trap in which he was held captive, but in the end it wouldn't change a thing. His hand held Wilson's over his own chest, and he felt the younger shift his position a little closer. Soon it would feel like nothing has changed and they had always been like that.

"I think I have fallen in love, James." He just mouthed the words, barely a whisper, a secret told to himself in the night as the full moon illuminated the surroundings. It wouldn't take long for him to fall asleep as well, but for the moment he enjoyed that silence made only of the wind blowing outside and the warm breath over his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors' note -
> 
> Hello, whoever might be reading this, those whose love for Hilson and House M.D. hasn't faded away even when we're in the edge of 2015. We'd just like to send you the best regards and truly hope you are enjoying the story, despite of everything. We'll be back next year with a lot more chapters, and we hope you keep on with us. A big 'thank you' for those following the story.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> XX


	17. Lover's Waltz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you wanna dance  
> Will you wear my ring  
> Will you lay with me  
> Until the final bullets sing  
> Over our heads, over our heads  
> Then a lovers' waltz will turn until the end
> 
> AA Bondy, "Lover's waltz"

The first thing House would feel in the morning would be two soft kisses; first in his forehead, then in his cheek.

"'Morning, cheesecake." Wilson nuzzled in his neck quite playfully, hearing only a sleepy grunt in response. House wasn't awake yet, and Wilson just sat down, stretching and remaining by his side, caressing his hair. The sunrays of the morning were getting in the room in an angle that didn't hit the bed directly. There were green hills in his view, covered with trees and some big white clouds in the sky.

Smirking, he got up slowly, walking silently to the bathroom. He took a proper shower by himself, and came back several minutes later to the bedroom, with the towel around his waist, leaning in the bathroom's doorway. "Daddy, I'll turn on the blowdryer. Your baby needs to be pretty."

House groaned, opening his eyes slightly to look at Wilson. "No, you're already pretty, you don't need it. Just..." He yawned, rubbing his eyes with his right hand. " Just come back to bed."

"You know I want to. Tomorrow it will be just vows and a dinner, but even just a dinner takes planning, and Amanda asked me to... a brunch, she said. Each time this all sounds more and more Upper East Side or whatever. "He approached the bed and stopped by House's side. He knew how hard it would be to get up again if he sat or laid by his side again, so he stood there. "And I'm about to say what you are hoping I will: You stay here and we'll meet for lunch. I won't try to talk you into going."

"Oh, amazing." House closed his eyes again, smiling drowsily. His hands slid from his chest to the mattress, letting out a loud breath. "You are the best fiancé in the world." He said the words pausedly, one by one. "If they start frightening you with furniture choices, just text me and I'll call the emergency to rescue you."

"I was hoping you would show up to save me in a white horse." When Wilson turned his back, House pulled his towel, but, even when laughing, the younger held it back. He kissed the closed smirk in the other's lips, stepping back right but, even when laughing, the younger got it back. He kissed the closed smirk in the other's lips, stepping back right been for Wilson, even when he didn't realize all the meanings. Wilson came back to the bathroom and if House complained about the noise, the younger couldn't hear. While he was tidying his hair, he looked at the hickies in his neck - it was like House calculated it. It was exactly where the collar of his shirt would cover, but that a sudden movement or a turn of his face would show it discreetly. Deliberately non-intentional, accidentally prepense.

When Wilson was buckling his belt, he came back to the room. That bed, House's arms, it was all so cuddly. He stopped at the window, looking at House laid prone, the sheets covering all his back. Gregory, the one that could make him come unbelievably hard and the one that could make Wilson want to hug him, hug the grumpy man with a manly stubble like he was the most cuddling thing ever. The one that even polite James Wilson would be driven to the will of punch in the face, and it turned out that he was also for whom Wilson would punch someone else in the face. The one he would kiss in the rain, provoke in speeding vehicles and roll in petals and champagne like they were young, like everything is endless.

House wasn't, then, just a smart and sarcastic man with stunning blue eyes and some need for Wilson to fulfill, something hurt for Wilson to fix. That would be too simple - but not in the right simplicity. Because, yes, they were simple, so simple. About everything, always, for all the means, they didn't want to be, they just simply  _were_. Smiling, Wilson closed the curtains to stop the sun rays to come directly upon the bed later. Maybe...  _perhaps_.

He pulled House's sheets to show some skin and kissed under his nape, where it would start the line oh his spine. "Sleep tight, husband-to-be." He messed House's hair, as if He was just playing, to after that walk to the bedroom's door in easy, light steps, to the last day before they extinguish their only 'to be' that wasn't already.

House smiled at the single kiss placed upon his last cervical vertebra, and remained that way until falling asleep. By the time he woke up, he could even swear he had dreamt of something if the pain in his leg, together with one on his back for sleeping in the wrong position, hadn't distracted him from everything else. Turning in the bed with a groan, he stared at the ceiling, fully awake. Alone in that bed, he couldn't quite believe in what would happen in the next day. Too surreal, too weird, and so amazing. The part of him that despised all the theatrical mess in a wedding was silent before the idea of marrying Wilson. He still couldn't think about his vows, and was it really necessary? Perhaps. Getting up, he walked to the bathroom, to wash his face, and his eyes wandered to the bathtub in the corner. A warm bath would surely do him good.

...

It was such a beautiful place, Wilson wanted to repeat out loud every time. It was funny how he had chosen that small peaceful city, in Vermont - that had a background history of LGBT support and it was the first state to give same-sex unions full marriage rights - for them to have a quiet, discreet wedding, and everything went its own way. He had the said brunch with Amanda, beside another large window that had a great sight of the river. Once he chuckled at himself; by the way she had it all under control, he realized it was just like he was marrying her. It was nearly noon when they walked out the hotel, to the green fields surrounded with tulips, all casually colorful, the river casually shining and the wind just casually cool, not to let the midday sun to make them feel any heat.

The photographer, a young, tall man was with them, analyzing the landscapes just as attentively as Wilson, but probably not apprehending the same things. Amanda was showing the place they would place the wedding arch, the chairs and the aisle. Wilson looked at it all, as if everything was so beautiful without having any idea of it, like the tulips, the river and the hills, that just happened to be there and he was the only one actually seeing it, and not just looking at it.

When she mentioned the beauty staff that came with them, Wilson intervened, saying it was to be just a dinner, as they had decided before, that she shouldn't be that worried neither working that hard. She looked away, to the tree-covered hills, and sighed.

"Do you know who was actually working endless nights just to help someone? You did, James." She looked at him with her piercing clear eyes. "They said I would be dead in six months, and they were wrong. You had nothing else to do there, your work was done. But I would actually be dead in two if you had given up on me like everyone else did. You were there every day to hold my hand and I could see by your eyes you were more than exhausted. Everything I can ever do in here won't pay you." As they started walking again, the photographer kept his distance. Her lips trembled and she was emotional. Wilson had seen it before. The way weddings seem to move people to tears. "You are such a great person, James. We became friends, though we see each other rarely, but I watched as no one seemed to acknowledge that, when you were there for everyone, always, without hoping to get anything back. I said, I wouldn't be happier not even if I was the one marrying tomorrow."

Wilson thanked with a faltering voice, stopping walking and swallowing hard, frowning at the sun rays. He smiled weakly and she smiled wider, hugging him. As Wilson hugged her back, he thought for a moment that the pain in his chest was because that, though he always felt really alone most of the times, people cared, and it was all a lie. He was deceiving people that actually cared about them. But then he realized: the lump in his throat wasn't because it was a lie - it was because it was true. He wanted that ceremony and that silly play with lines to say and movements to do, he really wanted the next day to come and the others after that. He just hugged her tighter.

"You should actually be my maid of honor."

"What?" she broke the hug, smirking. "That's just a bit short notice, don't you think?"

"I wasn't even thinking about something like this. It's... I really just planned exchanging rings. That was the point, you are the one who acted behind my back." He narrowed his eyes, playfully, unable not to smile widely. "It's actually your fault that this will be indeed a ceremony, you have to deal with it."

He looked at the place where she pointed the details and laughed. She laughed back, just as delighted.

"I just thought that if someone gave us the rings, that would be better, don't you think?" He shrugged.

"Well, the Labrador dog is very, very well trained."

"No way! You  _really_  did it?" She shrugged, and Wilson laughed again, hugging her back. He didn't want to say it was a joke and that it was all exaggeration. He didn't feel that way. He felt wonderful, no more, no less. "You're the best maid of honor one could possibly have!"

She laughed as he nearly took her feet out of the floor, and, when he loosed the embrace, he was physically unable to feel ashamed for being silly. The photographer said it was an amazing photo he took of them both, and he acted cheerful, excited, with such a chemistry with Amanda that for sure they were friends, more than just co-workers. She called him 'Jerry' as he approached to walk beside them.

...

House remained in the bathtub until the water was just barely warm and his muscles felt amazingly free from tension. The thought that there wasn't a single part of his self that hadn't been touched by Wilson was a reminder of how much the younger was under his skin, not that he ever forgot about that. He left the bathroom to look for his favourite jeans and shirt, still naked, sitting on the bed to put them on after. There was a single ray of sunshine touching his leg, and he stretched his arm to open up the curtains. The room was illuminated by warm light, reflected in every light wall and shining beautifully over the carmine furniture. Everything was beautiful, and he knew that no beauty in the world would touch him wasn't he feeling so well - he enjoyed the sunlight over his skin until it was just too warm and he wore his underwear, jeans and shirt, leaving the latter opened while he put on his shoes. Whistling that song for what seemed to be the sixtieth time just on that day, he left the room to meet Wilson for lunch, coming across his fiancé, Amanda and a young man who was probably the photographer halfway to the dining room.

"Oh, now the gang's all together." House approached Wilson for a brief kiss, and held his hand casually. "Are you joining us for lunch, Amanda?"

"I'd love to, but I'm afraid I can't. There's still some things to check and now I've got to look for an appropriate dress." She stared at Wilson smiling widely, and went on. "Just enjoy the place a little, both of you." She winked playfully and left them alone in the corridor, being followed by the photographer.

House frowned at Wilson, smirking.

"Is the 'appropriate dress' for you, sweetheart?"

"It seems I can't wear a white dress anymore, you've taken away my purity." He gave a step forward and pulled House weakly by the hand, for them to walk to the hotel's restaurant. "We have a lot to talk about, but... Amanda is the greatest. Long story short, I asked her to be my maid of honor."

"Oh, your 'purity', I see. Do I really have to remind you of our first proper date? How you used the power of the nymphs to fuck me senseless in the shower?" He walked alongside Wilson, calmly, and one could think he was talking about the weather. "What happened to the "just exchanging rings" plan?"

"Well, she ruined it." Wilson shrugged and opened the main door to the restaurant. "But don't worry, it's... sort of in a cool way." ' _In an awesome way_.', he thought, smirking, and walked to the waitress, who chose them a table, another one beside the window with a beautiful view of the river. As they walked to there, Wilson continued. "She explained everything to me and it will still be quite simple. I'll show you this afternoon."

They sat and House started looking on the menu left over the table. "If you have a maid of honour, does it mean I'll have to look for a best man? Because then I'd be in some trouble. I could ask Cuddy but she'd be mad at me for asking her this late. Maybe Chase or Cameron, I don't know."

"No, only if you want to." He sat down and waited for House to do the same. "It's just to have someone to be with the rings. I owe her a lot on this, I wanted her to take a part. We won't walk in by the aisle, we'll just walk out. The Justice of the Peace does his stuff, we read our vows, she is by the side of the arch, she gives us our rings, we say the lines, we kiss, we walk out, dinner and the party, that's it. "He said it quickly, as if nonchalantly, but there was a hint of anxiety in that hurried words. "There's a Grand Piano in the ballroom, you should play the... proposal song." He shrugged at the last words as if it wasn't important, but so vehemently that it could only be to hide that he felt otherwise. "If you want to, of course. Surely I brought the sheets with me."

"Do you want me to play?" House had the same nonchalant tone, looking into Wilson's eyes while doing so.

Wilson looked back at him in response, and let the long pause to take place. He bent his head slightly to the side, opening a smile. "Yes. I love to watch you playing." He held the menu and raised it, lowering his eyes to it.

"Then I'll play it. Everything for my jelly bean." He looked down at the menu again, though he had already chosen his meal. "The sheets won't be necessary, I can play without them. It's even better to play without, sheets always distract me." The waiter approached them.

"Are you ready to order, sirs?"

"I'll want the beef bourguignon, please, and... raspberry juice." He didn't look at Wilson but felt his gaze over him.

Wilson ordered the Pot-au-feu and gave the manu back to the waiter. While he was waiting for his meal, he talked just as casually about the details and the weather for the next day as when he was mentioning how big it was the sink of the bathroom for one to lean on while being fucked. Somehow until the end of the lunch they had come back to the vows, and he mentioned how were the Jewish ones - surely House knew it already and said it nearly in unison. He appreciated for a moment the sound of them talking at the same time, in a different language that he didn't even knew, before calling him a show off. He held House's hand while they were leaving the restaurant and walking to the outside, naturally as if he didn't even notice he was doing so.

They walked hand in hand across the green field, and Wilson showed him the place where Amanda said everything would happen. It would surely look great with the sunset behind them. House teased Wilson about whether his nymph friends would come from the woods, and if they knew the dress code; Wilson rolled his eyes and asked if it would be always like that, playing cool. They didn't need to walk much more to find a bench, and the sun wasn't too hot, and the wind wasn't too strong.

He passed an arm over Wilson's shoulders once they were sit, and maybe the other could feel his thumb moving slowly, like a caress, over his shirt. Some time later, after staring silently at what could be flower bushes - red stains amidst the green - he chuckled once, silently.

"You've chosen well, James. It's a beautiful place. And you said you couldn't choose one flower over another." He smiled and kissed the corner of Wilson's lips, briefly.

"Maybe I do things better when I am not overthinking. If I tried to find the perfect place for a bucolic moment like this I'd put us in... I don't know, Detroit or something. I never imagined that..." He chuckled and placed his hand in House's knee, caressing it gently. His eyes were following the lines that the glimmer of the sun was drawing in the surface of the water and in the leaves. "That I would be enjoying it." He breathed out, what could sound like relief or sorrow. 'Enjoying it' couldn't even begin. " Imagine I chose the room with a big sofa for one of us to sleep in there. You, I liked to convince myself. Who'd say now a good idea would be light the fireplace in front of it and just lay there with you. Or have sex on it. Or both, probably.

"You'd leave me to sleep in the sofa?" House frowned and tried to look indignant. "I bet you wouldn't be having half of the fun you're having now. But it's a good idea for our stag night. As long as you wear antlers." Relaxing his face and winking at Wilson, he looked around. "We could bring a basket with food and some wine and have a little supper around here tonight, what do you think?"

"I think it will be really cold tonight." He let the pause sound like a negative, but went on before any answer. "So we better bring at least a thin blanket." he smirked and looked at House. "I think a night picnic is a great idea." He bent his head slightly and inched towards House, that unmistakable gesture that precedes a touch of lips.

While they kissed, House realized they'd never kissed like that, in the middle of a public place, under the sun. He was supposed to be sleeping in the sofa, not sharing a bed with Wilson. They were supposed to avoid kissing as much as they could, to 'keep it low', as Wilson had said in what could be ages ago. He would end up in the same place, same conclusion - but all of that would take a longer time to stop amazing him. " Perhaps some champagne." He whispered over Wilson's lips, smirking suggestively.

"It's a good thing we'll bring the blanket," With his nose beside House's and a grin, he slid his fingers down the line of the buttons in the other's shirt. "then really no one will see where our hands are." Still within the grin, he pressed their lips together again, a close-mouthed kiss. Wilson could think that they had kissed in public spaces before, but in a nearly forbidden, or at least completely inadequate way. It seemed they were always daring and it meant rushed desire, like they couldn't control themselves, addicted to that the beginning, holding hands felt like defiance to other people or proving, now Wilson felt like something was missing between his fingers when they weren't.

House had a funny point, and made Wilson try imagine the hell he would be going through if they weren't together, if they weren't having that much fun, and if he would have anything going the expected way. Because then he was really adrift, and it felt great. He didn't know if he would like better if he was sure that at least House had things under control, or if he was hoping that Gregory would be just as lost as he was.

His hands were holding the other's waist and he pulled his head slightly back. In what seemed to be a tired, happy sigh, he sank his body in the bench and leaned his head in House's shoulder. "I really happened to find such a beautiful place here. I wonder if this view like the day you proposed to me." His voice was whispered, and he was really serious, but he forced a chuckle and went on. "Oh, that day, I can never forget it."

"Yes." House said, placing his hand over Wilson's, staring mindlessly at the flowers on the ground. "The day was just warm enough, and there were some light purple flowers exactly like these ones, and we could hear the sound of the water in the silence. Of course I didn't care about the water or the flowers, but about how you laughed at everything I said, and how it felt... nice. To be your jester, your fool, and make you laugh." He couldn't tell whether the idea came to him as he spoke or he just noticed what he was doing right then. It felt funny to feel so sentimental, but he was just talking, peacefully, about something that could hardly matter when they were already caught in that whirlwind.

Wilson looked away, too. There was an entire pallete of different collors to be seen and perceived, but they weren't different for him; they just peacefully brushed layers in that scenario for him to watch, like the paints turn into shapes in a portrait and an amateur don't know how.

"I know, right? I was laughing so much, you can always make me laugh. Sometimes I thought 'come on, James! It's not even that funny!', but even when it wasn't, the smile was there, stuck in my face. It was like you could make my eyes shine more than the sun in the surface of the lake." he dramatized it a bit, but the said smile was there, too. "Then... let me see. We kissed again, we couldn't help it. Maybe I... I whispered that; that you can always make me smile, and that I didn't remember smiling that way with anyone else." he connected two quick questions,as if he was really just plotting a story. "Was there a song playing on the radio? Did we get out of the car?"

"How can't you remember? We were listening to that Taylor Swift's album you love so much, you were even humming it." House chuckled. "But then I just tuned in a radio station and it was playing There's a Light That Never Goes Out, by the Smiths. You said it was a sad song for a beautiful day like that, and I looked for another station, after all I've never been a fan of the Smiths. I found a jazz station, they played Louis Armstrong's songs for about an hour or so. I said  _Hey baby, let's lay on the grass for a while_ , and you complained about how it would ruin your clothes, but I had already left a big picnic towel in the car for that purpose... And maybe some other purposes." He smirked and caressed Wilson's hand. He talked unhurriedly, stopping from time to time to look at Wilson.

"Yes, just like we'll do tonight, that's so touching." He placed his free hand in his chest, like he was too emotional - but more like shielding the same with that sarcasm. "We laid together and I was starting to see shapes in the clouds, but I didn't want to mention it. Out of the nowhere, though, you said the bigger one looked like Cuddy's butt, and that it was literally its size." He smirked at House and didn't let him answer, widening the smile. "I was just laughing again, and we pointed at the sky a few more times, I don't know how much, until we were kissing again. At one point, you had one hand in my hair and the other in my waist and I thought I heard you said something. I asked what it was, you said it was nothing, and I just answered 'me too.'" He looked at House as if waiting something harsher. "Too exaggerated? Maybe I'm listening too much to Taylor Swift."

"No, it happened this way, I remember. I don't know what you thought I said, but I was just thinking aloud about what whether I should or not buy new shoes. Sorry if I ruined whatever scene you picture, cupcake." He smirked and kissed Wilson's lips once more, and it was impossible to do otherwise - it would never be too much. "We kissed again, for a real long time, with our hands touching  _everything_  they could reach. It's a pity we didn't went all the way, but in the end it was better to wait for when we got home. It took a long time for us to notice the sun was already setting. You know how time flies when I'm with you, it's unbelievable." The words sounded more playful than mocking, and he went on, his voice sounding a bit softer. "Your face glowed with the last lights of the day, and it was like you had never seen a twilight before. In fact, you always look like that when you watch it, like a little boy. Even when it's not so beautiful as that one was. The wind was blowing softly but chilly, and you turned to lay your head over my chest. Soon we would have to leave, before it got dark, I doubt we could have build a fire in that place, but there was no hurry. I know how much you love to stay in the woods, staring at the sky." He winked, playfully.

Looking at the horizon, his smile closed just a bit. He had pictured it all perfectly, and kept on looking at the horizon just as brightly as if he was staring at a twilight which he had never seen more beautiful. That small softening in the wide smile wasn't anything like it was fading, but more like it was spreading to his eyes, to his whole self, but leaving that a hint of sadness of one that doesn't want the day to end. Yet, there, they were in the middle of an afternoon, and, funny thing, the perfect day they had pictured wasn't any far from the days they had together since it all had begun. "No wonder I said 'yes' in that night." He said in a low voice.

"You're forgetting the most important part." House said, almost indignant. "After I played the song for you, I felt as if I had passed a point of no return. It was good, really, because then there was no way I could chicken and run. In fact... I'm never the one who just chickens and runs, so forget what I just said. But you were there, staring at me, and I had to go all the way. I've never felt surer about us. So I stood before you and held your hand, going down on one knee..." He took Wilson's hand in between his, gently, and actually went down on his good knee, despite Wilson's actions to stop him. "...what wasn't that hard, come on, and your eyes were glued to mine. I knew I was asking for too much, like I always do. But I said, with these exact words: I can't think of a life without you near. The days I've spent with you were probably the most amazing ones of my life. I've already made up my mind; the choice is yours now. Will you marry me, James Wilson?" His tone was serious, and it wasn't a play or a make-believe story anymore. He's never been so reckless and daring - everything he could lose, all the suffering he could have, every deception that could came from that decision that could end up being a bad one for both sides... But his mind refused to take all those little fears seriously, when he felt his heart beating fast but lightly, and when his brain seemed to be soaked in every neurotransmitter that made him feel that easy happiness. Loving Wilson - love had to be the word because he couldn't find a better one - was easy as breathing, and just as natural.

Wilson felt shivery, and his lips parted softly. He swallowed hard as his heart was racing, and all House's words were pressing against his chest. Just like the first time they started to tell those stories, House was better than him - a better actor, less ashamed, careless enough. House's eyes looked so serious, and everything came to Wilson both like an avalanche and a fire, violently against his chest and at the same time surreptitiously taking over every inch of his skin - but, again, House had always been a better actor. But why, why would he act? Why would this be just a story? If before they had to pretend to everyone it was true, now they seemed to be pretending to one another it was fake.

"At this point, I- I was trembling to my bones. And I thought- I thought..." Wilson was stuttering hopelessly, and he felt he was blushing. "I can't really can't think of a story now." his voice was like he was giving up, but he was still looking directly at the blue eyes. "But I guess it's fine, I probably wouldn't even remember much of what I thought at the time, mainly because- because what I was feeling was the one thing that really mattered then. "He lowered his eyes to their hands and smiled, looking back at the man in one knee in front of him. "But I've certainly done exactly this." He got off of the bench, letting go of House's hand lightly, just so he could kneel in front of him, both knees on the grass.

The weather was cool, there were sun rays on the water, the green leaves and the colorful flowers, the sky was clean, the wind blew and even the birds sang, as casual as Wilson had perceived earlier - nothing was there to be beautiful, it only was. They were centimeters away from each other, and Wilson touched the tip of his nose to House's.

"And I said "Yes."" He held the other's hands again. "I said "Yes, I will marry you.", and when I said again, it was easy, like I was sure it was meant to be, because it was the natural course of everything. Just like..." he breathed against House's lips. His heart was still racing, but it was pounding harder rather than faster. He hushed the last sentence. "Just like kissing you when we are this close."

And under the sun they kissed, and those words echoed around them like a promise. Their hands eventually separated to reach for each other's face as they broke the kiss, and there was no need to pretend it wasn't for real.

"I am so glad you said yes." He said, kissing Wilson's hands. Then, leaning his hand on the bench beside him, he tried to get up, but ended up chuckling in the same place. "Well, let's stay on the grass for a while, shall we?" He moved until his back was resting against the bench and his elbow rested over his knee, sighing quietly and observing Wilson, with a calm smile on his lips.

Wilson was sitting down was beside House, sunk in a weird sensation that felt like dizziness, but wasn't quite a vertigo. He was away, internalized, the day shining in the corners of his eyes. He could hardly believe in what had just happened, and it was like he had fallen inside that meaning. There was a wicked part of him still trying to remember the days he went through hell in House's hands. He had been the one who believed too many times. Everything in that kind of logic, though, was yelling as an echo that not even his reason wanted to listen. But even with House as a boss he was sure he admired and looked forward to reach House in some way. Maybe... maybe in his heart? Would he dare to believe so?Looking at House's eyes, then, the question was even idiotic. And he was suddenly filled to the bones with the relentless feeling that he was corresponded in what he felt - not only in the fun he was having, in the desire that had taken him over, or in the way he cherished the company. It was... their wedding. He was marrying his reason to smile through all those days, days that changed so much. Tomorrow, damn, tomorrow! And all by himself he was sparkling again, and he kissed House in a sudden excitement that seemed to come out of the nowhere in the bucolic, idyllic scene they were in.

When he was with his lips in House's, he felt the vibration in his pocket and heard his ringtone. He put his hand in his pocket and separated their mouths, sighing and looking at the screen.

"Oh, Amanda. You're so lovely, don't make me hate you." He said to the phone, without answering it.

House just went on smiling, with eyes closed and his head leaning on the bench, his face towards the sky. He listened as Wilson answered the phone, knowing the other wouldn't just turn it off without feeling harsh and mean. He accepted the kiss his fiancé gave him before leaving to help Amanda with whatever it was, and pulled him in for another one. Soon he would go back to the hotel room, looking for something to do, but it's been so long since he just enjoyed the sunlight. Most of the time he was too busy for it, and when he wasn't, he lacked the will to just peacefully sit somewhere outside. It really felt like he had spent his entire life inside a room with closed windows, and for some time he laughed at the idea of having spent his whole life in a closet, actually. It didn't matter, none of his musings and thoughts. For the moment, he just stayed there, sit on the grass, thinking about picnics and wedding parties.


	18. You're the one that I want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And my heart is set on you_   
>  _You better shape up_   
>  _You better understand_   
>  _To my heart I must be true_   
>  _You're the one that I want_
> 
>  
> 
> _Lo-Fang (cover), "You're the one that I want"_

It hasn't been longer than fifteen minutes since Wilson had come by to talk to Amanda, in her room - which was filled with all sorts of stuff, from clothing to flowers - when someone else opened the door.

"God, Amanda, you are such a cock-blocker." It was the photographer, who already came in saying.

"What? Why?" She frowned. The young man was a blond with a cheeky smile and keen eyes, and his smirk was amused. "He and his fiance were having the cutest moment ever outside when you called him."

At the same time, Amanda tried to apologize and the photographer tried to say he wasn't spying, that they weren't exactly hiding, that he was paid to photograph everything about them in that weekend.

"Hey, hey, hey! Stop, you two!" Wilson said, but there was a smile in his face and his tone was light. "First, it's ok, you needed me here, Greg and I will have all the time in the world now. " He held Amanda's arm briefly, though his feelings were just a bit different, but he really didn't mind anymore. "Second, what are you talking about?" He turned to the photographer.

"I'll give you all the photography for free if you don't get mad at me for watching for a little while. I can erase them, too, but  _I doubt it_  you will want me to." He handed the camera to the groom-to-be. Amanda crossed her arms and they discussed while Wilson looked at the pictures. He really didn't mind if anyone was watching, and it was indeed an open place, but it left him a bit embarrassed to have someone watching it all, such an intimate moment. But, at the same time, the photos were... artistic. If the other captured any moment in which the kisses were messy or they were grimacing, he erased it - all that was left was them both sitting together, House knelt in front of him, him kneeling too. Careful hands, lips touching softly, perfect sunlight, perfect colors, a perfect moment turned eternal. It was just like he could hear House's words again.

"I can't decide if this is really, really rude or actually sharp of you, Jeremy." Amanda was saying "Probably both." But Jeremy didn't seem to be even hearing her. He was watching as Wilson looked, astonished, at the pictures he took.

"Ooh, Mandy, look at his smi-ile!" He threw himself laid in Amanda's bed. "This is so cute, I'm having a blast. I love weddings, I love my job!"

The way he crawled in the bed and hugged a pillow made them all laugh, and Wilson really wouldn't think that would be his personality. But he was really young, he should be in his early twenties, and everything in Jeremy's posture made him comfortable about something that would make him feel awkward. He was the center of the attentions there, and that was fine. Nothing could ever not be more than fine.

"Those are amazing. I'd love to have them. This is... you are an artist. "

"No, shut up, you two are the best models, I doubt I have seen such a couple in all the weddings I photographed. Your photo-shoot will be amazing, I can't wait for it. You are so in love with each other I am going to explode." Jeremy said.

"I know, right?" Amanda completed, and, though he wondered whether Jeremy said it to every one of his clients, Wilson felt as if actually he was the one about to burst, and surely he could only agree and widen even more his smile, until his cheeks would ache, like he was diving more and more in that amazing rapture.

* * *

Before going back to their room, House looked for some hotel employee. The hotel concierge to whom he talked was kind when he explained what he needed, and nodded affirmatively when he finished. "Sure, Mr. House, the basket will be delivered in time. Wine, strawberries, bread, chocolate, cheese, portable fondue set, a towel and a blanket; is there something missing?"

"No, that's all. Ten o'clock, then, at the room 611."

"Fine. Is there anything else I could do for you, sir?" the concierge asked, taking notes.

"No, it was just that, thank you." The older doctor then headed for his room, to wait for Wilson there - the thought of waiting for him naked over the crimson velvet sofa was tempting, but perhaps it was better to wait for after the picnic. Halfway, he heard loud laughs, and recognized Amanda's and Wilson's voice coming from one of the rooms. After knocking on the door, he opened it slightly, with only half of his torso in the room. "Hey, I heard you were throwing a party in here, can I join?" He grinned and looked at all the colourful organized mess in the room.

Everyone smiled at House, though Wilson's smile would be the brightest. "Hey, honey bee."

"Come on, sit here with us!" Jeremy gestured, tapping in the bed on the other side of where he was, beside Wilson.

"It's pitiful to leave you two apart even if for an hour. But we are talking business here, James said you are not into choosing menus." Amanda had her legs crossed, and placed her high heels on the carpet to get up. She gestured at her packing and the boxes."Please, don't mind the mess. We get too overexcited."

Jeremy, though, was really comfortable. "Amanda brings two entire trunks of luggage just to herself anywhere she goes, don't be impressed."

Amanda ran her fingers through her blond hair, not anxiously, but hurriedly. "Oh, and by the way, I'd like you two to take a look at my maid of honor's dress, if you'd like."

"Ugh, please. Just put it on already, you've been whining at my ear about it since lunch." Jeremy threw a piece of blue clothing at her, the dress she mentioned. They were so frenetic Wilson didn't even have time to reply, much less House. Amanda held the dress and picked a pair of shoes in the floor, walking to the bathroom. Jeremy got up and sat down in the couch, perpendicularly to the bed.

"It looks like they're on amphetamines." Wilson got closer and hushed just to House, chuckling.

"It surely does." House answered, looking like someone who's just waken up in the middle of a marathon pathway. Looking at everything, he felt deeply glad he didn't need to take care of any of it. The boy, Jeremy, kept on staring at them with dreamy eyes, and when House held Wilson's hand, almost mindlessly, the blond started giggling.

"I have so many ideas for your pictures. God, you're so perfect together, I don't know if I'll be able to survive tomorrow." Giggling a bit more, he went on. "The way you both look at each other... By the way, do you have any favourite filter? Not that you need any, but sometimes they do make the pictures more interesting. I was thinking on saturating some to bring out the... Oh, no, it must be a surprise. I'll shut." Resting his head on his hand, with his elbow leaning on the armchair, he sighed happily. "I'd love to listen the story of you both."

"I bet you would." House smiled, knowingly, wondering what would be the boy's reaction to their real story.

Wilson looked at House an then shrugged, smiling a bit shyly. "Oh, we... we work in Diagnostic Medicine in Princeton-Plainsboro hospital, it's a division that only exists there because...", he glanced at House, "because he is a genius. His mind is one of a kind, and he saves lives no one else could." Jeremy smiled wider, moaning really low something that could be an 'aww'. "It supports the whole hospital, and- he needed an assistant. So, yeah, actually, he's my boss."

"No way!" Jeremy blurted out, grinning. "Sorry I interrupted, I just think that's kind of sexy." He chuckled. "Go on." Before any of them could say anything else, they heard Amanda's voice saying 'Damn!' inside the bathroom "Are you alright?" Jeremy turned to the bathroom door.

"It's the zipper, it's stuck, I think it clung to the fabric" She opened the door "I'm afraid to rip it. Here, look at it" She went out of the bathroom and handed the blue clothing to Jeremy. She was in her underwear, white panties and bra, as if she really didn't mind it or didn't think about it.

"I have no idea why you think I understand about clothes or how they work, that's a bit cliché of you." Jeremy looked like he couldn't be more used to it, and he just held the dress. "For Jesus's sake it's a zipper, calm down! Just sit here, Mandy."

House looked first at Amanda, then at Wilson. There was a quiet question in his eyes, something like " _Why is she half-naked in front of us?_ ", and he tried to focus on the woman's face, rather than on her body.

She sit beside Jeremy and crossed her legs, at some point leaning her elbows on her knees, with a disappointed face. "I can't ruin this dress, it's the best that I've found; the other ones were all hideous or didn't suit me well."

House's eyes deviated downwards just a little to her breasts, and then he turned to face Jeremy. "Here, let me see it." Taking the dress on his hands, he searched for the zipper. It was a soft fabric, he couldn't name it. Finding the zip fastener, he held the fabric down with his thumb and pushed the tiny piece of metal with his other hand; in seconds it was all right again. "I hate this kind of zip, it always cling to the fabric." He handed the dress to Amanda. "Put the dress on and then come back here for us to push the zip up. Oh, and change these shoes." House winked, and it was almost easy to ignore her being in underwear - being a doctor for so many years, one learns how to do so.

Wilson was extremely uncomfortable - mainly because Amanda was indeed hot. It took him by surprise and unprepared, and the sudden gay friend position that was threw upon them both would take a bit more for him to get used to. There was something magnetizing about a body without clothes on, as if one can't stop letting the eyes slip to the skin shown. In some moments after being startled, though, Wilson could wear the everyday posture of a doctor, and it got easier, simpler. He glanced at House and chuckled when he saw him checking on her breasts - checking her breasts  _too_ , would he say?

When House got up and solved the whole problem, the blonde getting back to the bathroom, Jeremy placed his hands on his waist. "Mandy, Mandy, Mandy." He waved his head and then looked at them both. His sharp eyes probably didn't let anything be missed. "Don't mind Amanda, she's too used to brides freaking out in dressing rooms, all covered in colored moisturizers and with those big whatevers they have in their hairs. She is terribly professional and she can handle everything in an event like a juggler, but when it is about her, she goes  _kookoo_." He approached them both and gestured a circle beside his head with his index finger, his voice always low.

"No, that wasn't a problem, she was just needing your help", Wilson said, forcing himself to sound as natural as he could.

Jeremy shrugged. "Well, Amanda in shirts, skirt and Jimmy Choo's holding a clipboard you know will be back soon, after this super weird moment. She probably forgot you two are gentlemen. But, with my experience..." He walked to the couch again and threw himself on it "...everyone loses it in a wedding, one way or another. I personally think it's one of the funniest parts. If one doesn't turn it into drama, for me it's part that makes all of this really awesome." He leaned his elbow in the arm of the sofa and his head in his hand again, smiling "But you two were telling me a story." He smiled enchanted.

House sit beside Wilson again, the easy smile back on his lips. "Well, we started talking, we enjoyed each other's company, we both loved Monster Trucks so we went out together. It started to rain and we were on my motorbike, so we stopped under a porch and..."

"No way. You first kissed in the rain? Oh my God, I can't beli-e -e -e-ve." Jeremy giggled and House felt weird, as if embarrassed for being in the centre of attention in that way. But in fact, it was really delighting to remember all those things - the point where the fake became real in so many ways. "It was just too good an opportunity. We were both so happy, and he looked so beautiful with his hair all messy and that bright smile." He looked into Wilson's eyes, and it was another story to tell each other, in the end. He smiled placidly and squeezed the other's hand, and it was easy to pretend he was so foolishly in love, because despite all the exaggeration and despite him being much less eager to talk instead of showing his affection, there was something in him that was just that surrendered to that feeling.

"It feels like... We know each other for ages, and yet I'm never ever bored." Wilson smiled kindly, interlacing their fingers. It was great to have a excuse to be cheesy - it was his cue. He kissed House's cheek. "It was awesome, that day. The rain didn't stop and we couldn't travel back in a motorcycle. We would had to find a hotel room-"

The bathroom door was open again, and Jeremy sighed. "You have a master degree in cock-blocking, Mandy."

"What did I do now?" She asked, quite lost. She was wearing the dress, the zipper pulled to its middle, her hair in a bun.

"Go inside again and wait until they finish the story without creeping anyone." Jeremy pointed to the bathroom again.

She was clueless. "What story, what do you mean?"

"Nothing." Wilson said, kindly. "You look- The dress is gorgeous in you, Amanda. I don't even know why you are this worried, of course anything would work on you. I never wanted this to be any worry else." Wilson didn't want her to feel bad for what she did, no one needed to make it an even bigger scene. But it felt weird to defend or praise her in that situation, in front of House. It was as if he was used to be gallant to women, flirt even without any second intention at all, and everything sounded that way then.

Jeremy then just smiled sweetly at his friend, just sighing. "Look who is the prettiest of the prettiests. You are so beautiful, Mandy, my model." Jeremy got up. "Come here, Cinderella. Promise me you won't go down your heels and do the plebeian again." he finished closing her dress. "You two can go on, I don't even know why you stopped."

"There's not much more to tell, in fact. And if you don't have anything else to discuss, I'll steal my fiancé from you both. There's been a lot of storytelling today and soon I'll get too saccharine to stand. You know, all the time we spend together just never feels quite enough." House said, with an excuse coloring his tone.

"No, that's okay, we've got everything under control here, you both can go. I promise you'll only see me tomorrow", said Amanda, smiling warmly, as if excusing herself. Wilson reassured her that it was all right, and House nodded affirmatively, even if he didn't think it was all right to keep Wilson away from him all that time.

"You're taking care of everything for us, so there's no need for excuses. You look stunning, by the way, we'll have the prettiest made of honour ever." House said, gently.

She thanked him, and Jeremy sighed, smiling too. "Just get the hell out of here, lovebirds. You're living the dream and we're here spoiling, that's just unfair. You can tell me the rest of the story on some other time."

Soon, House and Wilson were heading to their own room, and House started teasing the younger. "You loved that dress so much, didn't you, love? Your eyes were sparkling so beautifully."

Wilson let out an embarrassed chuckle, but went on really playful. "I was enchanted by her dress, I envied the way it fit her body. But actually I was really more concentrated when she was without it. I was wondering whether her breasts were natural. I'm sure you were, too, dewdrop, taken for that much interest I saw in your eyes while looking at them."

"Oh, you know me, candy, I was just wondering how it would be if I actually had a pair of those to wear all that La Vie en Rose lingerie. By the way, have you seen that bra? I loved the lace all over it." His voice sounded affected as they entered the elevator.

Wilson pressed the button of their floor and turned to House again, leaning his shoulder in the metallic wall beside him. "Do you miss it, Greg?" He thought he didn't need to say 'honestly', since it was House he was talking about. His tone and his eyes weren't inquisitive, but curious. "Being with women?"

"I haven't quite thought about it." House leaned on the mirror, facing the door. After some time, he went on. "No, not really. Because if it is for the sex, well, I'm getting laid, and that's the whole point of sex, in the end. If it's for the looks... That softness of features, it's something easy to feel attracted to, but then again, it's not just women who can be aesthetically pleasing. In fact, breaking it to pieces is a terrible way of thinking about it." He frowned, just for a second. "No. I don't miss it enough to be significant." His eyes deviated to Wilson. "Do you miss it?"

"I haven't thought about it, not really. Actually, not even now. What says enough, I guess." He shrugged as they went out of the elevator. "I asked this because, one thing doesn't excludes the other. I assume you're being 'faithful' to me", he exaggerated the twisted tone in the word, "just because we are together 24/7. I'm more than satisfied with what I have, but maybe you- I don't know. Some time in the... future." He cleared his throat and swallowed hard, the last word failing in its end. He didn't want to imply he was projecting things for them, or that they assumed they were in a monogamous relationship, but he knew he was doing it already, and he was getting awkward. "If this, if we- If we went on together, I wouldn't want you to be strained or bored because something implies we should...", he scratched his nape and passed his hand behind his neck. "You get me. I'm just saying it's ok."

Letting out a breath, House chuckled at Wilson's embarrassment. "Oh, I'm glad you said this. You know how I get when I think about Cuddy's butt, it's just stronger than me. And Thirteen... But what about men? Would it be a problem? Chase is kind of... hot." He talked nonchalantly as they walked to their room, and opened the door. Once they were in, House let go of his cane, that hit the floor with a deaf noise, and turned to hold Wilson's hands against the wooden door and above his head, pressing their bodies together. Breathing over the other's lips, he whispered. "But I've got everything I need right here."

When House was mentioning people, Wilson was trying to swallow hard it all . He could do it; he said it was ok, and it could be. But suddenly House dropped his cane on the carpeted floor - before Wilson could even know what happened, he was pressed against the door, both hands above his head. His heart raced automatically and the words against his lips warmed not only his skin, but his chest from inside out. He smiled. "And so do I." His voice was whispered, hoarse. "I don't see why I'd want anything else at all." He then inched with his head towards House until his nose was pressed against the other's face. With their lips skimming already, he hushed again. "Let me kiss the only lips I want to, would you?"

House just smiled in response, and moved his head forward to press his lips against Wilson's, softly at first. The way the other's posture relaxed and how his smile eased made his own heart warm, and he really didn't think about what seemed to be another unspoken promise. It seemed to him that their relationship had already taken form before they discussed it, and that it didn't really need any discussion. He wondered if Wilson needed that, as House himself just assumed everything was as right and clear as he thought it was. But they were kissing, their tongues were touching, his hands slowly went downwards Wilson's arms until holding his waist. He doubted things could ever feel more right.

In the first moment, Wilson felt himself sparkling, House's lips against his, which were twisted by his will to keep on foolishly smiling, and he wrapped his arms over House's shoulders in a heartwarming hug, within a romantic kiss. In the next one, his clothes were dropping fast to the floor. Several minutes, though, had linked the first moment to the next one, but they could be shattered in small scenes, little talk, quick laughter, more kissing, then more, then fingers were finding the zippers and the buttons, touching the skin and pressing the exact spots. Then Wilson was there, after carefully sliding House's jeans down his legs to his ankles, blowing him - it was really an entire new moment from the loving kiss they had by the door, but with that beauty they can't help but feel. House's left hand was in Wilson's hair and the right one inside the nightstand's drawer, blindly picking up a condom, lube, anything, like it was too clumsy trying to find anything there even when they were the ones who put it there and there weren't but phone lists inside it. They were between the window and the bed, the spring sun-rays were shining through the window on Wilson's freckled back. He took the mouth off of him only to display the most indecent smile ever, even stronger due to messy hair and panting breath, pornographic as the look in his glimmering brown eyes when he looked up to find the blue ones.

House deviated his eyes to the window and back at Wilson, and he couldn't hold back a low moan as he pictured it all in his mind. Wilson must have thought that he wanted the curtains to be closed, but the curtains didn't matter at all - they were in the sixth floor and nothing could make him change his mind, not shame, not prudence. When the younger got up and moved in the window's direction, House held his arms with his right hand holding the lube bottle and a condom package with his fingertips. The puzzled look in Wilson's face was soon gone as House leaded him to the window seat, panting hard, and sit over his thighs, with lustful eyes. The package was left beside Wilson's hips, and House kissed him hard, as his hands started applying lube to his fiancé's covered erection fiercely, to get him fully hard. In the meantime, Wilson reached for the lube bottle and started fingering him. It was impossible to kiss and breathe at the same time, and they just panted and moaned over each other's lips, helplessly anticipating for every touch and every movement.

When House's voice, that were letting out groans that sounded more like loud breaths, went out of his throat in an open-mouthed moan, while the other's hand automatically let loose of his erection and held his shoulder with slippery fingers, Wilson knew he had found the point. The desperately panting breath beside his ear was all Wilson really perceived - everything else was heat and desire. Through it all, his contorted position, his strained legs, his tense muscles, it was really difficult to be precise about it. Yet, he was sensitive to each hot breath that blew against his moistened neck. He could feel the pulse under his fingers, but he couldn't even feel his own heart; it was like it was just one huge vibration, numbing any pain by turning it into more and more endorphin, colliding him against that heat. His free hand traveled from House's hips to his shoulder and from his shoulder to his arm, holding his elbow so he'd kiss his arm, then stretching his spine to kiss up House's clavicle, throat and the lips again. It all ungainly, lips that didn't fit and incoherent tongues within puffing breath. Then through their half-closed eyelids they could see crimson from the room, green from the hills on the outside, blue from the sky. The warm sunshine seemed chilly in contrast to their feverish skins, and Wilson felt the glass of the window cold as ice against his back when House made him lean on it, moving upwards. Through that blurred sight, Wilson mouthed swearing and profanity, but the only sounds he made were incomprehensible humming. He could see it all, until it all collapsed in a color wheel and he rolled his eyes. What would be the definition - he slipped inside House, or was it House who slid on him, it couldn't matter any less. His fingers twitched in House's torso, grabbing it like he wanted to feel his ribs, never stopping holding him the safer his smeared fingers could.

His lips twisted in a breathless grin, and his eyes closed as every inch of Wilson got into him. The thin layer of sweat felt cold over his back, but how could he ever mind a little cold when everything else was on fire and he could as well be consumed entirely by it? Wilson couldn't seem to stop swearing, and House just smiled wider, leaning his forehead on the younger's, even if his first instinct was to bend his head backwards with his eyes to the ceiling. Their disconnected breaths were shared in what could sound like a wayward chant made of moans and incomprehensible words blown against each other's lips, and Wilson's face, looking almost desperate, was a much more beautiful view than any of the elements he could see through the glass. His left hand leaned on Wilson's shoulder while the right leaned on the window's glass, and his hips went up and down - if there was any pain, he couldn't tell the difference between it and pleasure. He managed to keep his balance and move over Wilson the less clumsy he could, because he needed to go on until his senses exploded, until he couldn't scream any louder or gravity was just too strong for him to keep moving. The hands on his waist gave him more confidence and the feeling of safety, and that was all he needed to ride him harder and harder, even when his hands slipped slightly due to their sweat or some uncontrollable spasm he couldn't avoid. He saw the need and the desire in his lover's eyes grow hungrily, and he doubted any of them could ever reach that point where it would be fully satisfied - but they would surely come close enough to it, and still far enough to always want more.

Soon Wilson felt like he would break the glass behind him - but screw it, the whole building was crumbling down anyway. He could move towards House, too, but it was nothing but a helpless oscillation under violent waves, coming and going, crashing against him. Again he couldn't help it; he couldn't try to control himself. They had sex so many times in those weeks Wilson had lost count - but he was still amazed about how it wasn't just getting off or not. It was about what was exciting his mind to that ravishing point, and it was all Gregory. All him, to points he couldn't even begin to explain. He wasn't being romantic or naive, he wasn't forgetting anything he disliked - he just knew that exactly that man now would make him more aroused and would make him come harder than any hot body of a meaningless stranger. He raised his back for a while and held House's back with his forearms, hugging him, leaning the forehead in his chest - holding closer that body he wanted hard, that he wanted to death. Like that, with the discreet scar in his ribs and the huge one in his right thigh. With his stubble and the hair on his chest. With the heavy weight he made when on top of him, coming and going, moving his hips so shamelessly, up and down, grinding back and forth, in circles or side to side. It was so damn fucking wonderful, and that would be the best definition Wilson could get while being completely detached from sanity or reality. The truncated breath and the moans in his deep voice while they are whimpering nearly together. Wilson was immersed inside it all, like he wanted to absorb him, all the muscles, from the ones tightening around his rock-hard erection to the ones on House's arms and hands keeping his shoulders in place. Muscles he felt under his fingers as they slid trembling through his chest and down, grabbing his hipbones as if Wilson could lead that riding, when he was actually just reinforcing the implied 'yes'. Yes, this way, the way you already know by now, but the way I'll never ever get tired of. And he does it again, he pushes himself against Wilson's hips, as if gravity had replaced the violent thrusts when in another sexual position, he does it faster and faster, stronger and stronger. Wilson held House's hard-on, between their bellies, and the willing movements of his hand went exactly the opposite as House's up-and-down, making that pumping the harder it could get. It led House to moan louder, and that pierced Wilson with a fatal, final, rush of arousal. His trial to communicate was incoherent as a radio with interference or a bad phone call, like he entered in a tunnel. "I'm... Greg, I- w-wait, I'm- God, you're-, this is... I can't- I can't- control it-." And things alike. He was sure he wouldn't take it any longer - but he couldn't do anything about it. He was free falling, and nothing could break it but House.

At some point, he wrapped his arms over Wilson's shoulders, with one of his hands holding the brown hair; and in the obscenity of that scene, they were beautiful, one another's entire world. The lips that were so kissable in their panting helplessness, the hands that couldn't be firm or steady enough, the dark eyes that seemed to pierce through his own right into his brain, the golden light of the day shining over the freckled skin and the hickies from the other night. They were each other's ruin and salvation, and in every possibility they were magnificent, from every first time to every soft kiss exchanged in the hurry of a busy day. Wilson's hands grasped his skin with raw desire, and House couldn't hold back that twisted open-mouthed grin of joy, pride, fulfilment and pure satisfaction. His hips moved almost convulsively, and their moans sounded more and more like desperation and pleading to one another, to themselves, to whatever force in the world for more, for deeper, for harder, for the climax, for it to endure forever. He could hardly see with his blurred vision, and each time he moved in the right way so Wilson would rub against his prostate, he couldn't tell if what he saw was light or darkness. There were no rose petals this time, and no champagne, just their bodies colliding with the mundanely delicious sound that they were already used to - and that was all they needed to get to paradise together, in the end. House listened to Wilson's babbling as it got more impatient and crying out for release, and he himself couldn't take it any longer. It felt too good, if 'good' was a word he dared to use. So he rolled his hips hardly, and then, he was blind in Wilson's arms, bending his head backwards helplessly, forgetting about the void behind him and the danger of falling. He howled as release came, and his muscles tightened around Wilson like refusing to let him go, wanting him to feel the same spasms that took him over and share that powerful sensation that caused his body to shudder.

When Wilson felt House's violent spasms, he concentrated in holding his body, for them not to fall, what delayed him in some seconds. Although, the sweat was making his hands slide, and he had to grab the other's arms. It had been a mess - how on Earth they actually managed that position could only be explained by the overwhelming desire that seemed to make their bodies able to move tons. When he firmed his hands, watching the orgasm take hold of House's expression, feeling his entire big structure shaking and trembling while sitting on his lap, pressing his hips, making himself be fucked exactly like he wanted it, and also controlling the pleasure of the man under him, driving him to the edge like he was really speeding on a highway. Wilson smiled while puffing desperately. He'd think to himself ' _Damn, James, look at this_ " every time, all the time, but recently he just couldn't help being taken over by that. He was making himself look hard at it and realize again in this epiphany moment what a fantasy he's been living. He laughed, breathless, but House couldn't see it. " _He's riding me, he's riding me like a goddamn motorcycle and I'm marrying him tomorrow._ " He laughed just once more before he howled, too. He had to clench his teeth not to scream inside an hotel room in the middle of a silent afternoon, in a silent field inside a silent city. When he started seeing again - not sure if it blinded him or if he shut his eyes really hard - the light of the afternoon dazed his sight. He was grasping House's arms, and, taking a deep, agonizing breath, he let his back lean again in the window, with a loud sound of metal and glass structures being hit.

House eventually held Wilson's head closer to his chest, in an ungainly hug. For a moment, he couldn't keep track of his own thoughts, but he could hear every raced heartbeat and every short breath. Every wave of decaying pleasure seemed to push him to Wilson, to make him want to get closer when there wasn't any closer. He leaned his forehead on his fiancé's and grinned, and soon he was laughing again, amazed, at all that they had done since the very beginning. It didn't really hit him frequently, but then he couldn't help feeling all of that wonder that was too absurd to be reasonable, that left him dumbstruck. He kissed Wilson's lips because it was the only thing to do, the only thing he could think of doing in the state he was in. " _Everything I need_ ", he had said, and Wilson was really everything - a friend, a lover, a constant thought, a safe haven. "Everything I need", he said to himself, and he actually had whispered it against Wilson's lips, he, Gregory House, who disliked talking during the afterglow for knowing it would sound shallow and not significant. It could make him feel awkward, but there, in James Wilson's arms, he could only feel that lightness that seemed to fill every action of them.

If Wilson were laid in a table during an open chest surgery he couldn't be with his heart more exposed. The sound that came out of House's mouth was so feeble that he could be hallucinating due to exhaustion and lack of oxygenation, hearing his thoughts in between their panting breaths. "Me too." he whispered only with his breath, inaudible just as well - even if it wasn't the right reply, it was telling enough, and that would make it the right answer. He chuckled and thought to himself whether House was just thinking aloud about buying new shoes. Blinking slowly, he kissed his mouth, just his lips catching House's in between his, lazily, panting in between each smooth movement, feeling the weight of his body pressing heavier on his legs, such as the weight of his own self pressing his spine. Trembling, dizzy, he felt the gravity embrace him such as House's body, as his hands slid down the other's back to his hips and his legs, only stopping when they had somewhere to lean on.

He couldn't be sure whether James had misheard what he said or just answered the first thing that came into his mind - either way, it felt nice, even warming as their world slowly cooled. Getting up hadn't been so physically hard as he thought in the beginning (but really hard to do in every other way), holding on Wilson's shoulders and slowly raising from his body, putting part of his weight on his good leg and part on his fiancé's shoulders. The will to just sit beside Wilson was just too strong, but he knew he wouldn't want to get up so soon. Leaning on the pale cream-coloured wall, he stared at his lover and chuckled at the other's apparent exhaustion, feeling like kissing those lips again and lay beside him. "Come on, James, the bathtub here is too awesome for us not to enjoy it a little."

Wilson leaned on the wall and his legs faltered when he stood up, so he unconsciously held the curtain. "It seems I'm really eager in destroying this window." He chuckled, stopping by House's side, also leaning on the wall. "Let's go, yeah. Don't mind if I faint, just hold me outside the water." He leaned his hands on the wall on both sides of House's head. "You are trying to kill me, aren't you?" Again he kissed him, for it wasn't a question, but a statement. Soon they would be in each other's arms again, surrounded by warm water. Wilson wouldn't faint, but the sweet laziness would take him over as they talked slow, laughed easily and caressed each other's body softly. The sound of the water was surrounding them with the easy, relaxing sounds, that were lulling him to another level of peace of mind when combined with the vibration of House's voice.


	19. Cradled in Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So with the fire still burning bright,  
> I wanna gaze into your light  
> If I could see my fortune there  
> you know how flames can hypnotize  
> Do I even dare to speak out your name  
> for fear it sounds like, like a lover
> 
> Poets of the fall, "Cradled in love"

Napping in the end of the afternoon beside House was another time without hours or without clocks, where waking up to the night would be normal. But there was, indeed, a call on the phone waking him up. Wilson gently took House's arm off his waist and answered it, a bit sleepy. He had a hard time in understanding why they were talking about a basket with food and a blanket, but he rejoiced when he remembered, smiling at the phone and agreeing.

Yawning, he opened his eyes to the darkened room, illuminated only by the moonlight coming from the window. House kissed Wilson's nape, lazily, and held him close again. "Are they bringing it here already?"

Stretching, he groans lazily and caresses House's arm. "Yes, it seems we have a moonlight picnic to attend." He ran his fingers in the other's hair and sat down.

"It doesn't sound so bad. It's a pity we'll need to put on some clothes, though. I'm comfortable here." Nevertheless, he sit on the bed too, yawning, with his hair looking more messy than usual. There was a knock on the door, and House looked at Wilson with a serious expression. "You answer it, or I'll answer it naked."

"They came in here teleporting?" He looked at the door. Knowing House would actually do it, he got up readily, chuckling. "Let's just try not to abuse their tolerance, shall we? People had been extremely patient with us, I don't know how we haven't been punched in the face yet." he walked to the bathroom to pick up the robe, yelling 'Just a moment' at the door before answering it, with polite words and soft excuses at the woman by the door handing him what they ordered.

"I'm getting impatient here, sugar cube, will I have to finish it all by myself?" He spoke loudly, smirking at Wilson while getting up from the bed to start getting dressed. It was just too tempting to embarrass the younger in front of everyone he could, and just like the silly nicknames, it had become part of all that. He heard the door being closed, and smiled candidly at his fiancé.

"You're impossible." He placed the basket on the bed and walked to his luggage to pick up some clothing. It was probably a cold night outside. As he was getting dressed, he turned to House again. "It's a fancy basket we have there, fiancé of mine. You did liked our rich party with champagne, it seems."

"It's our stag night, sweetheart, we deserve it. I hope you don't mind that it's just a charming little basket instead of strippers and whiskey." House winked at Wilson, sitting on the bed again to put on his underwear and jeans. The wedding was certainly more expensive then they thought it would be at the beginning, but House knew he would manage it. It was all still very neat and unpretentious, just like he wanted it to be in fact - another unplanned aspect of that real life fantasy that happened to fit them just fine. He observed as Wilson buttoned the cuffs of his shirt, smiling, and then went on with his own dressing.

The night was indeed cold, but there was hardly any wind. After getting dressed, they walked out side by side, always hand in hand, until they were outside, to that starry full moon night. It was like he had chosen it specifically, studied the weather for the wedding to happen in the best of all. When they stepped in the grass, Wilson looked up, and they stopped talking and joking about stag nights. The moon was so big in the sky he started to wonder why - he started to wonder if, just as the sunset, he haven't stopped to watch it since a long time, or if it was the open fields, far from the big cities, that made it all shine that bright. Probably both things. He looked down again, to find a good place to lay the tablecloth on the grass.

A beautiful night, indeed, not only due to the moon or the stars over them, but because of each element that composed it, including them both. Even the cold played its part, and they held one another's hands to keep them warm as the cheese was melted in the small earthenware bowl, over the little tealight, what took some time. House opened the wine bottle and took a sip directly from it, like they had done on the night before with the champagne, smirking afterwards. By then, there wasn't much they didn't know about each other, excluding some meaningless details or secrets they still held in their hearts because they didn't matter at all in the moment. Eating a strawberry, he said, nonchalantly. "If you see some of your nymph friends around, you should invite them to our little supper, I may have to thank them for some tricks they taught you."

The blankets were still in their legs, more as comfort than a way of heating up - they weren't really feeling cold yet. Wilson, sitting beside House, held the wine and drank a sip himself - he was still swallowing when House said the last word, and he smirked before answering. "Oh, I'll invite them, sure." He ran his fingertips in the lines of House's hand. "If they don't show up, you can tell me your favorite ones and I'll go personally tell them you're thankful." He whispered beside House's ear, grinning, and reached out for a grape.

"God, my favourite ones. Well, certainly not that time when you almost choked on my dick, that was terrible." House chuckled and stirred the cheese in the bowl with a spoon.

Wilson laughed, still with an indignant face. "You pushed your hips!" He defended himself, but kept on laughing.

"Oh, sorry for not being able to control my hips when I'm being blown." Smirking, he put a piece of chocolate in his mouth.

"Sorry I couldn't be mouth-fucked at that time. I must have coughed for a minute nonstop." He bit a strawberry, chuckling and waving his head. "Well, it's not like that huge immunology tome that nearly knocked me out falling in my head when you were kissing me and pushed me against that bookshelf."

House burst into laughter and kissed Wilson's forehead. "My poor baby... But come on, it wasn't that huge."

"A thousand pages, illustrated, hard cover. I had to put ice in my head, Gregory. I really saw things dark." Wilson laughed, easily, and he remembered when the nurse asked if it was an accident. House, by his side, answered her "No, we have what I call 'literary fights', we throw books at each other. Once he threw a War and Peace in my face and I knew I wouldn't have sex for a week at least."

"And what about that time when you rolled over me in the bed and we both fell to the floor? My arse ached for two days, do you think it is funny?" House raised his eyebrows to Wilson, who only laughed more, until he was laughing too, helplessly. Two weeks since that first kiss, and there they were, with enough stories to laugh about, on the eve of their marriage, making fondue under the moonlight.

He took a sip of the wine. "That was funny, come on. I dropped everything there was on the nightstand and you pulled the sheets trying to hold on to something. But we already have stories of dropping things and slipping." Eating a grape, he leaned his elbow on the tablecloth. "We were so lucky with that heart race monitor. As I said at that time, great reflexes. That's what it takes wanting to have sex in unusual places." He laid on the ground, his shoes on the grass, and placed his head in House's left thigh. "No regrets." He smiled at him from behind, reaching for another fruit blindly while looking at House's face and at the stars above him. "Besides, what's a skull or spinal fracture or even choking in a cock before the immensity of our love?" He laughed easily, biting the strawberry he held, still smirking.

Picking a small piece of bread with a fork, he dipped it into the melted cheese, holding it over the bowl for a while until it wasn't dripping anymore. "I still think it's a pity that my office is surrounded by glass, I'd love to fuck you over that desk." Raising the fork to his mouth, he bit the bread and hummed in delight. "Here, have it, it's just great." He took the fork to Wilson's mouth, and waited for him to open it. "I should go with you to one of your cooking classes, it must be fun. You never cook for me anyway, I should as well do it by myself."

Still chewing, he made an indignant close-mouthed sound. After swallowing, he went on. "Gregory House, you haven't made a bread with peanut butter and jelly for yourself since we started..." he frowned "dating? I don't know, since we started 'engaging'. You only entered in your own kitchen to fuck me bent over the center counter. I'm spoiling you." He narrowed his eyes as if thinking about it. "You even got brownies that day, God, you are so going to my cooking classes."

"You enjoyed that as much as I did, come on. And you know... You look so sexy when you're cooking, all concentrated and with your sleeves up to your elbows, humming something I can't understand..." House drew the shape of Wilson's lips with his forefinger, grinning boyishly. "Maybe I shouldn't go to your cooking classes or I'll feel too tempted to kiss you and grab you close all the time." His hand went down Wilson's neck and inside his shirt, stopping over his chest, feeling the warmth and the pulsation under his palm.

"I don't know what this is supposed to convince me of. If you're trying to talk yourself out of this, you wanting to make out with me isn't quite the best excuse." He breathed in and out, feeling the soft weight in his chest, and his own heartbeats seemed easier to feel under House's palms. He turned a bit and wrapped one arm in the other's waist, using the other hand to raise his sweater and his T-shirt slightly. Wilson kissing the skin of House's lower abdomen, just pressing his lips against it, then turned back to stare at the sky and covered the skin shown, smirking.

"But you were right, the bread is delicious, I want more." he opened his mouth, showing his tongue as if to show House he should feed him, closing it afterwards and remaining smiling widely, playfully.

Grinning, with narrowed eyes as if indignant, he picked another piece of bread with the fork to dip it on the cheese. "What a teaser, this fiancé I found." When it was ready, House put his free hand on Wilson's head, touching his hair, and lowered the fork to his mouth, only to raised it back to his own; with a smile, he took a bite of the bread before lowering the fork again. He chuckled at Wilson's affronted face, and so they went on, between laughters and funny remarks, teasing and soft caresses.

There were no clocks but the moon, that rose higher in the sky progressively, over their heads, and House could see its glow discreetly invading Wilson's eyes, making them shine more than ever. The eyes reflecting the light reflected from the sun; and maybe his own eyes could be reflecting some of that ethereal glimmer back to Wilson, instead of just absorbing and perceiving it. Night time belonged to them as well as the day, and it felt good to be part of that constant. They weren't changing - people never change - but they were really building something significant there. Maybe 'building' wasn't the word. It was alive, it took over their hearts before they got to notice it blossoming inside of them. He chuckled at himself and concentrated on caressing James' hair, before creating more metaphors out of that scenario that was poetry by itself. There was still food and wine when he laid beside Wilson, the fondue set already far from them both, to avoid any accident. With Wilson close enough, he kissed the lips he already knew so well softly, and leaned his head over his arm, looking at the stars above and smiling.

A minute or so after that kiss, Wilson had pulled the blanket over them, laying beside House again, feeling the warmth of his body that close. He let his hand find the other's, like he didn't even notice that, and caressing his fingers. It was another thing he couldn't help, and he was smiling at the stars, too. He nearly said lot of things, like how the country sky was starrier, something about the cold, the day they had and the one tomorrow. But he remained there, in a torpor that had nothing to do with somnolence, without saying a word for some time. He was letting the serenity take over, being filled with that blissful sensation - not an acknowledgement, not a conclusion, nothing rational, just the feeling - that he was exactly in the place in the world where he should be, and that his life couldn't be better spent. His concentration and his logic was worried in connecting lines in the stars into constellations he didn't knew, he just supposed. Constellations that no one thought about, that no ancient Greek or modern scientist had drawn for an specific, meaningful reason. As an amateur, like someone that doesn't know that love is a mixture of hormones and stimuli in his brain, Wilson would see the patterns and draw it by himself, and when they were too messy, he'd start it again. He was smiling easily, the security spreading through his self, and he breathed in.

"Do you think that somewhere outside" his voice sounded thoughtful and he gave a pause "Jeremy is hidden photographing us?" His voice showed he was was smirking.

"Who knows? We'll only be able to tell when all of this ends." House entwined their fingers together a bit more firmly than that, and held Wilson's hand over his own chest. Wrapped that way in his lover's embrace, he couldn't bother about much beyond their own particular world, surrounded by stars; totally conscious in that dream.

It was fun to hear that from House. Literally fun; he laughed. To imagine a world in which House would be wondering about afterlife or worlds other than ours, a world in which... they would be hand in hand in a picnic under constellations. He couldn't answer anything else. He chuckled, then he sighed, then he smiled. Maybe it wasn't needed. He opened his fingers, separating their hands. Sliding the one in House's chest to the side of his body, he locked him in an embrace. He sighed again, leaning his head on House's chest. He couldn't see the stars anymore, but he could see the moonlight reflected on the surface of the river, a trembling glimmer, and he placed his leg over the other's.

"Already tired of the stars? I know, it's not the party you expected. I knew I should have hired the strippers." He started caressing Wilson's hair again, after taking his arm from under his head." On our first anniversary, let's drive all the way to Vegas, what do you think? In my motorbike, of course. Just take over the road and party hard and everything." He smirked, knowing it was just as likely to happen as... Just like any of that. A cold wind started to blow, and he shivered when it touched him through his sweater. He placed his hand over the arm Wilson kept around his waist, and sighed, closing his eyes.

Wilson smiled widely, hearing House's heartbeats and closing his eyes for a moment while feeling the fingers in his hair. The cold wind blowing remembered him of traveling in a motorcycle. "Oh, it's such a long trip, what about the kids? Yes, because if we married in a month, at that point we'll to be with, I don't know, three of them." He laughed, pulling the blanket to cover them more." Rachel will go to college soon, we can't afford spending like that.

House chuckled, low, and it may have sounded a bit downhearted. It seemed to him they had already passed the time of subterfuges, and he had meant it. Maybe it sounded too eager, and Wilson just thought it was another joke." I meant it, and don't be too eager about the kids. Let's enjoy having a home all for us before filling it with crying babbling creatures. Oh no. Don't tell me we've already got one coming." He shifted his position a little to be able to touch Wilson's belly, theatrically, pushing his shirt upwards a little so he could touch the skin.

"Maybe, will you leave me like a lonesome music man I found along the road or will we be a family?" Wilson tried not to smile even wider, task which he would surely fail. Anniversary, he said. I meant it, he said. He nuzzled in House's sweater. "You know I'd love it, Vegas, come on." He leaned his hand in House's chest and his chin in the hand's back. "We are too epic together. We can make anything awesome, imagine what is already awesome. Getting tired during the trip and staying over in motels. Having sex all the way from New Jersey to Nevada, more hotel rooms to our story. It won't be a story to tell the kids, though." He chuckled. "I can hardly wait." he raised his body until he was facing House. "and, at the same time, I really don't have to wait for awesome."

"Yes, I know I'm awesome." He smirked, picturing it all but keeping his eyes fixed on Wilson's." And it's all for you, husband-to-be. My awesome husband-to-be." He added, smiling widely at Wilson before pulling him closer for a kiss, under stars and dreams. House felt too numb on that happiness, as if the wine had more alcohol than he thought, and he was drunk on that sensation of being so obviously wanted, so dearly held close. It was dangerous, too dangerous, to bet all of him - but his blood ran warm in his veins, and the cold was coming from the outside, not the inside. Soon he would adjust himself to the wonder of being part of that, there was no hurry. The lips moved together and it was just like Wilson said earlier: it was impossible to be that close and not press them in a kiss.

"Everything was loud in there. Each movement of the arms, rubbing fabric. The leaves rustling with the breeze. Their hearts in their ears and the kiss itself. When it is too quiet, everything tells too much. One could be afraid of the broken secrecy, but Wilson wasn't. And he knew that if he said too much, he could chuckle, exaggerate it until it was distorted and pretend it was a joke. Even so, they could read it together in between the lines. He leaned his forehead on House's as he separated their lips, and then their breath was loud, sounding like puffing when they were just breathing slightly deeper. He placed soft kisses on his cheekbone, until reaching his temple, going down to his neck afterwards. "See," he said in between kisses "unless we fall in the river, which is far enough I guess, here we can roll over without the fear of falling."

"We've already fallen, James." His voice was low, and it seemed to reverberate on the air, tangible as every touch. His fingers ran over the brown hair faintly. "We're on plain ground. There is no fear." His eyes were lost in some point among the stars, as each word of his sounded louder with every unspoken truth. His gaze deviated back to Wilson, and his smile wasn't wide in his lips, but it could be seen on his whole face; a glimmer in his eyes that matched the one shining in the brown irises.

Wilson, though, stopped smiling for a moment, holding his breath. He was waiting for the next funny part, because it was too hard to believe in the obvious, too hard to hear what the silence was screaming. He smiled wider at every second without any more words that just confirmed it all. "We have, haven't we?" he whispered faintly. "It just... didn't hurt at all, so I didn't notice it until it was... Shut up, James, just shut up and kiss him, his thoughts yelled, and he obeyed, eagerly, for not to let any doubt, if there was any left by then.

The night was gradually becoming colder, so they put everything back in the basket and walked back to the hotel, shivering from time to time, laughing at themselves when they did so. The warm lights saluted them, and they relaxed their bodies fairly. It was almost midnight, and everything was calm and quiet; a different kind of quiet than the one they experienced outside. A comfortable quietude, the silence of asleep people and casual noises muffled by thick doors. They walked through the corridors just as silently, the sound of House's cane hitting the floor being the only exception. Their room waited for them just like they had left it, and House couldn't help smirking at the window seat. His eyes stopped on the carmine sofa beside the fireplace, which he lighted before sitting on the sofa and closing his eyes, waiting for the heat to fill the room.

The shine in their eyes was literal, visibly reflecting the flames. Sitting down beside House, in front of the trembling light of the fire, Wilson still waited for a small sign that he should be hugging him, and he felt foolish when, taking his sneakers off and pulling his own leg to the sofa, House brought him close. As if Wilson needed any permission after all. But right there, it was all so vulnerable - it was really hard to believe, a soap bubble in the air that he didn't want to touch, a crystal piece he couldn't press too hard. Maybe it was that night, maybe he was too sensitive, but it wouldn't be the first time that he'd do it, that he'd suffocate everything with emotions. But small talk was there; it was easy. The day after wasn't mentioned anymore, not because they were avoiding it, but because it didn't come to the subject.

The warmth inside the room was literally and metaphorically surrounding Wilson. There is no fear, House said. That's just right, and he'd be sure about it when he was inside those arms. He needed to remember that there was no before; everything there was the first time. Wilson liked when House caressed his hair, and the other seemed to like stroking it, - not only to please him, but because he really concentrated in its texture. The night ended as if the seconds were dragging slower and slower until they stopped - and they were sleeping, together in a bed like every one of those days, and like the first time.


	20. Strangeness and Charm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hydrogen in our veins  
> It cannot hold itself  
> Our blood is boiling  
> And the pressure in our bodies  
> That echoes up above it is exploding
> 
> Florence + The Machine, "Strangeness and Charm"

Those soft, lazy minutes contracted into a blink when the beeps brought Wilson back to reality. He still crawled beneath the blankets, groaning, his legs slightly entwined with House's, and then he opened his eyes suddenly. No dreams. No bucolism. Light of the day and his phone ringing.

It was Sunday.

He sat down on the bed all of a sudden, reaching out for the nightstand and cleaning his throat before answering it.

The sudden movement made House open his eyes, only to see Wilson sit on the bed and rubbing his eyes with one hand, nodding his head before actually answering whatever it was aloud. Stretching, he let himself wake up completely to the daylight illuminating the room, staring at the ceiling still a little drowsy. The memories of the day before came unhurriedly, and he was in a comfortable haze, listening to Wilson's voice and trying to make sense of what he was saying, but the younger just seemed to talk on monosyllables for a great while. Probably still waking up. He smiled and took his fiancé's free hand to his lips, kissing it.

He was certain the day would pass normally until it was time for them to put on the tuxedos and exchange the rings, and after that, they'd only have to let Jeremy babble about what a beautiful couple they were while taking pictures and enjoy the party. It sounded easy, and he wasn't giving much care to it in that moment. Right then, he was planning on having breakfast with Wilson and maybe have some great sex on that sofa - or even on the sink, as the younger suggested while they had lunch on the day before. All seemed to be perfectly fine - more than fine - and he noticed he was on the edge of drifting off again.

Wilson lowered the phone and stared at the opposite wall for a while. 'Holy fuck, I'm getting married today.', were the words his mind, exactly like that, as he blinked faster. His eyes went from side to side and he swallowed hard. He leaned his hand in the mattress again. House had his eyes closed again, and he kissed his cheek.

"'Morning, teddy bear. I have the feeling we have something to do today, something to do with rings, I don't know." He stretched quickly and got rid of the blankets, stepping out of the bed. "I know you are not sleeping anymore. Meet me in the shower if you want to." He walked to the bathroom.

House remained where he was, humming quietly some unknown song. The sound of the shower being turned on came from the bathroom, and he pictured Wilson there, as the water ran down his body, soaking skin and hair completely. By then, he already knew everything, every detail of that everyday rite: how Wilson would first stretch a hand to the water to check the temperature and then step into it with his face towards the shower, just to shake his head a little afterwards. How he would let the warm liquid fall over his shoulders for a while, with his face looking completely relaxed. The way he passed the sponge all over his body, after dripping some liquid soap in it, agonizingly slow. How he stared at every part of his self while the sponge brushed softly over the skin, and how the skin started to looked flushed after a short while due to the water temperature. House opened his eyes, and chuckled. There he was, picturing James showering like a teenager, with a boner delineated by the fabric of his underwear. It felt good that he could picture it all, in fact. Being able to go and watch it was much better.

He took off his underwear, leaving it over the mattress carelessly, and walked to the bathroom, breathing deeply in the fragrant air. Amidst the steam, James had his eyes closed, while the water washed away the shampoo from his hair. Gregory leant on the sink and stared at his lover's body, touching himself slightly, until James opened his eyes and noticed, smirking at him.

Wilson ran his hand through his hair, breathing through his parted mouth. He kept on looking at House, while he let the water take away the rest of the foam that was still on his shoulders and on his back, sliding to the floor. He only looked away to pick the hair conditioning beside him. He massaged his hair and placed his hands under the water again, waiting a bit before rinsing. House barely moved; his hand touching himself softly, his chest going up and down slowly at each deep breath - it left everything with that sweet anxiety that precedes a certain sudden movement, and Wilson licked his lips, the smirk turning into a grin.

"Will you just keep on watching?" He wet the fogged glass of the shower box to see House clearer. He leaned on his hands against the door and looked at the lustful, perverted glimpse in House's eyes, in his apparently indifferent, merely concentrated face. He lost what he was thinking about before, the hair and stuff, and ended up stepping under the water, breathing slightly deeper himself.

"Actually, I won't." Taking his hand off of his erection, he turned to the sink and turned the faucets, washing his face with the soap and picking his toothbrush, as if it had been just a moment of distraction. "I've came here to brush my teeth." And so he did, turning his back to the mirror and observing Wilson again in the meanwhile. The parted lips, the eyes closed and his face under the water; it was beautiful. James was beautiful, his silhouette, the way he moved, the look upon his face when they made eye contact again.

House turned again to wash his mouth, raising his head to look at the mirror. He knew Wilson could see him, and he just stared hard into the glass, before walking closer to the shower box and taking a white towel in his hands. "I feel like wiping my husband-to-be dry. I'm sure he wouldn't mind it." Walking back to the sink, he leant his hips on it, holding the towel with one of his hands, not hiding his body behind it. The bathroom was clear, but his eyes were darker and dilated, and he kept observing Wilson; clearly waiting for him to step out of the shower. His voice had sounded nonchalant, casually calm, but desire was there, in every impatient move and every shiver he couldn't help.

Wilson turned off the faucet and the water stopped flowing, until it was just dripping. He pulled the glass door to the side and it slid open, both the fog and the colder air outside interspersing. "I see." Wilson made sure the other was staring at his face, gazing at his irises, when his eyes looked all the way to House's groin, slow and careful like a stroke with fingertips down his torso. But there was no touching, just the perfect idea of it. "The mornings, hun? It can be such a problem when you want so chastely to dry your fiancé." He stepped out, on the small beige rug, in front of House, letting the water drain free down his body. He raised his head again. "and it can even make one think your intentions are not pure." He was really close by then; the distance he said it was so natural that they just kissed, but he didn't. Instead, he smirked, breathing through his parted mouth, looking at the towel in House's hand.

"There are some things you have to endure in order to get better things. Or something like that." House spoke calmly while wiping the drops from Wilson's face, neck and shoulders. Then he gestured with his head for Wilson to raise his arms, and held one end of the towel with his left hand by Wilson's right side, passing then the other arm around his waist, to get the other end of the towel. "But I really can't remember saying anything about doing it chastely." He pulled the ends of the towel in his direction, consequently pulling James' body to his own, firmly but not violently. Leaning his chin on his fiancé's shoulder, he started to wipe slowly the drops on his back. "I like the smell of your skin." He said, as if merely stating a fact, while his hands went down to his lower back. Wilson closed his eyes, the eyelids fluttering briefly as he heard the whispered words and felt the warm breath against his moist neck.

When the hands reached the bottom, House gave a half-smile before meticulously touching and grabbing every muscle through the already wet cloth. He felt his hard-on rub faintly on Wilson's thigh, and he exhaled softly over the flushed skin of the neck, stopping his movements briefly. Wilson licked his lips again and he interrupted the deep breath he was taking when he felt the hands grabbing him. He unavoidably parted his mouth, in a hiccoughed breath, and remained like that. "What a pity you didn't come to take a shower with me, then." He let his lips press faintly in House's ear. "I could be drying your wet body now, too." he raised his hands until they touched House's body, but merely skimming the fingertips up to his shoulders, delicately enough to make one shiver.

"Don't worry, I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities. Right now, what I wanted, though... " The towel fell to the floor, and House chuckled over Wilson's neck, his hands pulling the hips to his own. "You've said something I just can't get off of my mind." His voice was barely a husky whisper, blown over flushed skin. "What I  _want_  is to fuck you bent over this sink, and see your face through the mirror while I do so. What do you say, James?" He placed a kiss on the neck, wet again because of the water dripping from Wilson's hair, an open-mouthed kiss, languid, unlikely the grip he had on his lover's hips.

"What do I say?" Wilson stepped back, eyes on House's, and his fingers holding his wrists, pulling him softly, as he hushed the words. "I could say you are not even married yet and you already forgot how you're supposed to gallant." he said it all as he walked slowly backward. "I could say we're a bit short in schedule and I don't have the time. I could mention the weird white tube that isn't a toothpaste that happened to show up on the sink with you." He leaned his back on granite of the sink and kept on pulling House towards him, until their legs were one between the other's and his hands traveled to his shoulders and to his face. "But why on Earth would I say anything if we can  _do it_?" he whispered before House's mouth, locking a kiss right after.

House could smile at the thought of what they were about to do, but he couldn't do it rightly when he had Wilson's tongue touching his own like that, or his thigh rubbing against him so divinely. With an arm around his back and a hand on the wet nape, House kissed him like a hungry man, but controlled enough to be gentle. With his eyes closed, he saw Wilson's naked body, and his hand went downwards to hold his hips. Lust, combined with passion, causing his body to crave that touch in every way possible, and he opened his eyes to see Wilson's blurred eyelids and the face he loved to see. There was also the fascination for that man, who could be sharp and make him feel uncomfortable, just to show a wide smile and confuse him. He wanted him just as much as he needed him, and there he needed him right where he was: at hands reach and his to touch, to be more than a fantasy in his mind.

The grinding was making Wilson breathe heavy and deep against House's skin as he was kissing down his neck to his shoulder. The hands on his waist were so firm and decided that he was soon completely taken over by the will to experience the image that must be in House's mind, leading those actions. He turned to the sink and opened the faucet for a second, wetting his hand to clean the fogged mirror in front of him.

The first image he'd see in that now clearer reflection would be the expression of pleasure in his own face as House's hands grasped his hips and pulled them towards his, rubbing the hard-on against him in a strong movement, not merely an insinuation, but graphically, explicitly. Wilson gasped, leaning that hand in the mirror, letting out a loud, groaned breath that echoed inside the bathroom. He looked at House's eyes through the still distorted reflection and grinned.

House kept on looking at the mirror while his hands moved to Wilson's groin, closing the younger in a tight embrace, holding his body close. His chest touched the freckled back, and he placed open-mouthed kisses over the still moistened skin of Wilson's shoulders, while touching him vigorously, keeping his eyes opened. Each time James' eyes closed, synchronized with the movements of his hand, send a new powerful wave of heat right at his lower abdomen, and House felt a little more impatient, and surely more eager.

The breath faltering in Wilson's lungs was louder, truncated. He reached for the lube blindly, his fingers hesitating while sliding on the granite, since they were twitching involuntarily, and he brought it closer, straightening his spine again. The movements of House's hands were rather stronger than faster, which reminded his senses of deep thrusts, and it was already hotter inside him that it was under the shower. Looking down to House's hand, he opened the tube and pressed it, over his own erection and the fingers that were massaging him that way.

The hand slid easier, freely, and Wilson moaned louder - still not too loud, the volume of regular talking, but his body had a spasm and he nearly dropped the tube off of his hands. He breathed in and out between teeth and again looked at the reflex of them. His left arm raised and holding House head as the other kissed his neck lustfully, while jerking him off. Wilson would grin His left arm raised and holding House head as the other kissed his neck lustfully, while jerking him off. Wilson would grin again, staring at his own eyes, while their bodies were oscillating, grinding together. It was something overwhelming to feel and really, really exciting to watch. How come there, like raw pornography, they could still be  _beautiful_?

He stopped kissing Wilson's neck, to just observe him as every moaned breath came out of his mouth. To concentrate on the violent pulsation against his palm. To rub himself against Wilson one more time, letting out a deep groan himself. Soon he had his fingers covered in lubricant, and his left hand rested over Wilson's shoulder, over his heart, as he separated their hips. Looking at the mirror with a smirk, he just touched around before starting to finger him; a slow, teasing caress, and his fingertips slid over the sensitive skin until simply slipping in, just as slow and just as gentle. He kissed Wilson's neck once more, with his fingers sliding in and out of him, deeper with each time, feeling the raced heartbeats under his palm.

Breath after breath, Wilson's spine was arching a bit more, projecting his hips backwards and leaning the back of his head in House's shoulder. His mouth was parted and through it he inspired in hiccoughs and expired loudly. His hands were eager to touch something - it started with House's face, which he he turned to him, for their mouth to meet again. It could be a clumsy kiss, that didn't fit, yes, but without tongues and within the puffing breaths, it felt absolutely the right thing to do at the moment. When he turned again his face to the mirror, he half closed his eyes and he slid that hand throughout his torso down to his groin, to his hard-on, slow movements as if he just had to feel it. The other hand leaned on the sink and he bent more his body. His hair fell to the side as he lowered his head and looked at House directly, with the corner of his eye. He licked his lips before leaning his forearm on the granite and arching his back once more.

Wilson's voice filled the air and electrified House's mind; a series of pulses that was bliss and, at the same time, desperation. He had been too hard for too much time already, and the faintest touch caused him to moan softly and low, oversensitive and on the edge of helplessness. That body and all that skin, the muscles contracting around his fingers, the spasms he could feel with his thumb when he swivelled his hand ninety degrees to be able to caress the perineum, the four kisses he placed over Wilson's spine; everything in that man, in their actions, it was all part of that crescendo that soon would reach its highest point and become nearly unbearable.

Taking his fingers off of his lover, he reached for the white tube, to cover his erection with lube and place himself right behind Wilson, holding his hips, looking at the clear glass in front of them and seeing that face with an obscene gaze that could only excite him more, coming from James Wilson, the gentleman, the kind doctor, the "fairytale prince". To be the one to get to see that gaze and fell the feverish skin under his palms was euphoria, and House moved forward, parting his lips as he felt the warmness, ninety-eight Fahrenheit degrees, all around him.

The feeling, Wilson was sure that he would never be too used to it so it wouldn't bring him that soft fear, more like some delicious anxiety. That exact moment, when he was rolling his eyes and breathing in slowly, synchronized, was maybe when he wanted the most to be seized. Maybe House knew it, or his will was the perfect opposite to his, but either way he slid the hand in his waist and the dry one a bit upper. Then Wilson was being seized so definitively that he would feel like he wouldn't fall not even if he wasn't stepping on the ground anymore.

Out again, and inside once more; that other time, he lowered his head and held his breath when he felt House's hipbones. Staring at the greyish tone of the stone under his fingers, a hiss escaped through his mouth, that could be a  _yes_ , and he grinned again, closing his eyes. There's nothing as depraved as a couple that knows too well each other's bodies, sensitive spots, fantasies and limits, and they already were one. When trust is strong enough so you can yell 'ruin me' if you wish. Wreck me. Fuck me hard. Wilson knew he would still be smiling when it's over and he knew he could do everything that screamed 'use me' and he wouldn't feel used. House was holding, while Wilson needed to be held. Inch by inch, one being inside and the other feeling inside. Begging relief and demanding mercilessness. The seconds froze when House stopped, breathing deeply while Wilson breathed fast, in small intervals, through his parted mouth. The younger threw his head back and mouthed 'again', even when he didn't need to. "Harder." He hummed, but it wasn't an order. House already knew what he was supposed to do and how he was supposed to do. But Wilson just needed to say it, like he would need to moan in the first strong push.

He had said he wanted Wilson bent over the sink, but House wouldn't care about anything he said previously when he was taken over by delight and halfway to satisfaction. In the end, it didn't matter why or how, when or where; sex with James was fantastic. In every possible situation or place, in every position and in every way. Maybe it felt that good because Wilson always had that expression of one who was enjoying it to the fullest and his body talked in languages House was proud to be able to understand. There was no shame or prudishness, and he was sure of every one of his movements, knowing Wilson would just speak up, put a hand on his wrist or even stop everything if something wasn't right or good, being hard to do so or not. He couldn't tell whether it was him or if Wilson had always been that way, but it was something he valued tremendously.

Repetitive thrusts, varying only in deepness and velocity; hands that gripped muscles not possessively, but like someone aching inside for it; their faces on the mirror, and they couldn't stop looking, couldn't stop watching that hypnotic and peculiar peep show. At the same time, House's lips needed to touch Wilson's neck, muffling some moans on it, and none of them seemed to be able to keep their eyes opened for very long. They spied themselves only enough for the thrill of doing so, but greater things were happening, brighter things claimed their attention, and they were fiery from inside out.

Like when they were under the moonlight and mentioned some funny things that happened when they were having sex, it took them a while to be like that. Even if they were great from the very beginning, there were the 'wait', the 'stop', the 'not like that' from both of them before - it was hard to believe it when they were watching such a coordinated performance, with the soundtrack of moans, swearing and the noises from flesh colliding, wet contact from kisses or from thrusts. Also true was, it had been easy all the way together. They had learned too well from it all out of every single yes or no, said or unsaid, like their chemistry only needed a slightly guidance to run free.

There, eventually, Wilson would really be completely bent over the sink, and he didn't feel any pain anymore, in any time. The only thing close enough to it was when he was so sensitive his sight was blurring and his voice couldn't come out anymore, and he was surrendered by that familiar sensation of not being able to take anything anymore, but craving,  _dying_  for more. He had his forearms leaned on the stone, his body oscillating against it, his fingers holding the faucet. Gregory was such an amazing fuck. Wilson couldn't help but wanting him to do him like he wanted, because it meant he would leave the younger like that, both in the edge of screaming and unable to say anything at all, hands grabbing what they could or leaning in the mirror, forgetting everything else. He looked at House's eyes through the mirror and within those nasty grins and dirty gazes, there were the fascinated smiles with helplessly unbelieving looks. And then he would close their eyes again, close them shut, because once more House was rubbing and hitting exactly where it would make him nearly suffer from that much pleasure.

Completely high on that sensation and feeling the orgasm nearer like sucking his whole vitality, his whole energy and his whole perception and compressing in a point, but also spreading through his crashing synapses, Wilson didn't want to say anything. He couldn't make a sound, he couldn't move, because his whole structure seemed to be failing, but he couldn't let it stop. So he showed, in his desperate hands holding House's, in his shortest breaths and in the agony of his eyes, that he was collapsing.

House increased the pace as soon as Wilson started giving him silent (or not so silent) signs. The uncontrollable hands, grabbing everything at reach as if it could be salvation - he loved when Wilson grabbed one of his hands or even both, even when it made things a little trickier to manage. The puffing breath: the thorax expanding and almost immediately compressing, forcefully, and that was also part of his favourite memories. The helplessness in his eyes blended with the desire, waiting for the next shove desperately and anxiously; those dark eyes at the same time pleasing and intimating him to go on - as if Gregory would ever think of stopping. Each moan that didn't come out of James' mouth because it felt impossible; and when it came, it was a loud roar. Wilson's spasms became less spaced, stronger, and his mouth opened wider - whether to breath or scream, it seemed none of them could be done. The muscles contracted harder around him, and pressure was everything House knew. Wilson was taken over by pleasure, and House just needed one more thrust - they were paralysed in another dimension, and their bodies couldn't make it without disintegrating in a billion sparkling pieces, or so they felt. The husky, throaty sound left House's lips at the same time he spurted into Wilson, and he had to control himself not to fall over his fiancé's torso bent on the sink.

The sudden, temporary and giant exhaustion was a wave in the sea, and he was swimming under it, being pushed to the shore by the violent flow. He grinned, still breathing through his mouth, not being able to rewind that scene in his brain right at the moment, but knowing it would come to his mind every time he looked into a mirror, anywhere he went. They were slowly surrounding themselves in memories, painting every daily element with the colours they liked best. House closed his eyes to kiss Wilson's nape, bending over him for a moment; a kiss that wasn't soft but still sweet, while his hands caressed the sides of Wilson's hips.

Wilson leaned his chest on the cold stone, feeling his abdominal muscles contract due to the temperatures contrasting, but he couldn't help it. He let his legs faltered and it freed them from supporting his weight. In the next minute or so, his hands stopped grabbing things and they just loosened. While he felt House sliding out of him he let out one last moan, a low one, and he ran his fingers through his own wet hair, taking it off of his forehead. "I was hoping I could  _walk_  down the aisle." he chuckled, puffing, turning again to stare at House. Although he wanted to wrap his arms around him, he was leaning both hands behind him on the sink, trembling, puffing, and smirking as his eyes found House's directly.

House laughed, leaning beside Wilson on the sink, capturing his lips in a kiss. "There's our honeymoon yet, honeybunny. Our first night as husband and husband." His hand slid over Wilson's and he kissed him again, briefly. "But now it seems you'll need another bath." A boyish grin took over his lips. "If you feel like sharing one with me now; you know how I love to cuddle in the bathtub with you, hunny, when you're not there with me I feel so alone... You can wipe me dry later, if you want to."

"Oh, cherry on top." He sighed, kissing House's cheek - briefly, but still keeping his lips close to his skin. "We can share a shower, but I don't have time for the bathtub right now. But hold that thought. As you said," he stepped back, smirking. "We still have our honeymoon."

House made an exaggerately annoyed face, like a spoiled child, rolling his eyes. "Fine. But we're gonna have lunch together. Otherwise, who will let me taste their food?" He smiled, because it was the natural thing to do; because it was stronger than him. Because the afterglow was still acting on him, because they were getting married, and because he was too used to it already. The mirror reflected their backs and the hands touching, but none of them stared at it. They were looking at each other, sharing smiles and gazes that didn't mean or said anything they didn't knew. It was all old news, and they relished on that known sensation.

...

From when he held weakly House's wrist to bring him to the shower to when he was leaving the room with his phone in ear, it all went relatively fast. People were arriving, the guests, he had quite a lot of things to do, but everything then would be on its way already.

Wilson had gone through it before. It had felt right to freak out, like it was the right thing to do, but there he just couldn't, not yet. It was like he needed to be desperate, because his life was about to change so much and one is obligated to be worried, but he was just calm, smiling at the beautiful day it was ouside. From the moment they kissed for real, his life was changed completely already. So maybe later. There was the margin of error in everything, and maybe he would feel worried about the right thing - about a problem. He didn't need to feel worried about what felt like the solution. Hands in his pockets, Wilson was leaving the elevator when he heard a known voice.

"Wilson!" the woman's voice was kindly cheerful, as if the smile took its tone. He turned to see Cuddy walking in, towards him. After polite words, chuckles, and random comments, they started walking side by side, small talking. At one point, when they were passing by a window, Cuddy looked outside. "It is a beautiful place. This all mustn't have been cheap. But surely hiring a fake wife or husband for a green card would cost him a lot more."

Wilson stopped walking, grinning, and she stopped too. Turning to face him, she narrowed her eyes.

"Please. Are you one hundred percent sure of this?"

"Don't worry, Cuddy. I mean it." She narrowed her eyes, and he went on. "He is not here, he didn't plant me a bug so he can hear what I am saying." he chuckled, and then his smile was comforting, so peaceful it was. "I'm... I am always impressed how easy it actually was, and how I made a big deal out of it in the beginning. I want to be with him, Lisa. It's that simple." She swallowed hard, with a pained face, staring at the beautiful safety and enchantment in the brown eyes of the other's.

"I feel really terrible for being so suspicious. But I know House longer than you do, this all sounded just like..." She gestured meaninglessly, then stopped, pressing her eyelids with her fingertips, and sighed, looking at him again. "Actually, lately House seems so peaceful, well, peaceful  _for him_ , he is even easier to deal. I have absolutely nothing to complain, but I don't want anyone getting hurt."

Wilson just smirked. "You're trying to turn me into a runaway bride? It's a bit of a cruel thing to do, isn't it, Dr. Cuddy?" His tone was just playful, casually, smiling, as if nothing could reach him.

"No,  _no_! I-I truly hope I am just being a jerk, but if I am, I'm sure my words will mean nothing to you. I was just... talking to Tritter in the lobby. God, the guy is obsessed. I am worried."

"Tritter? He is  _here_?" Wilson frowned, and his tone was grave.

Tritter was indeed there, with a despicable grin, and House immediately felt like punching him hard in the face. Such a contrast to the desire and the affection on Wilson's eyes. Gregory had left the room to have breakfast in the cafeteria, feeling slightly awkward for being alone. He and James had spent so much time together that he from time to time felt like Wilson was right behind him. His cane tapped on the floor, like claiming everybody's attention to him as he passed, and he actually smiled when he noticed the whispers accompanying the looks. Unhappily, it also seemed to bring Tritter's attention, who followed him and sit in a chair in the same table as House, who rolled his eyes.

"Wow, what a surprise to see you here." Tritter didn't look affected by House's sarcastic tone; in fact, he seemed to smile wider. "I'm sure it is. But I'm sure it's a much greater surprise to see how fate can actually work this way. You never thought you would need me, did you?" A waiter approached them, but House dismissed him before Tritter could ask for something. "Go. I know you're eager to threaten me. "

Tritter shook his head. "I don't threaten people. I just want to talk."


	21. Hanging by a moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm living for the only thing I know_   
>  _I'm running and not quite sure where to go_   
>  _And I don't know what I'm diving into_   
>  _Just hanging by a moment here with you_
> 
> _Lifehouse, "Hanging by a moment"_

Near noon, Wilson got to met House in the hotel's restaurant. It had indeed been a busy morning, but nothing in the organization seemed to be wrong. Everyone was on their way. The dinner was going just fine. Nothing was missing. Nevertheless, Wilson wasn't smiling anymore. He got in, kissed House hello briefly, sat down in front of him and already called the waiter to order his meal.

House frowned slightly, trying to figure out what could be troubling him - or, the most probable, what he had found out. They ordered their meals, and he stared at Wilson, resting his elbows on the table, waiting for whatever it was.

Wilson looked away, through the window, and noticed the gaze upon him. "I don't want to talk about it in public. It seems everyone is minding our business." he glared at House under his eyebrows and deviated it again to the beautiful day outside. "But our friend Tritter is here and I'm  _pretty sure_  you know what we'll talk about later."

"Do I wanna have this talk?" House raised his eyebrows at Wilson's tone, and started to play with the napkin over the table. "I know he's here, we had quite a nice chat before breakfast." 'Nice' surely wasn't the word. But it was calm, polite even. It didn't make a difference for House, though. The arrogance in every spoken word, in every unspoken thought; he just couldn't bear, since the very first time.

"Well, and I had a nice conversation with Cuddy, who had already arrived." he tapped his fingers on the table. "You know people are still worried you're using me and fooling me to get your green card. We've been through this already. But it was really hard to be convincing when she was telling what happened before, what you did, and I seemed completely clueless of the simplest and most concerning thing in the entire situation." He stopped, breathing deeply in a clear attempt to to remain calm. "Why, didn't you, tell me, about Tritter?" He was still speaking low and politely, but each comma in the breath was showing the anger such as his furious glare.

House sighed, annoyed. "I don't really believe in oversharing, some secrets are necessary in a relationship. In my defense, that guy was clearly asking for it. I was planning to tell you when it was all over and we could just laugh at everything, but Cuddy had to spoil it all." Wilson had that look of deep concern blended with anger, and that was new: to be in a situation where he actually had to explain himself to Wilson. Playing cool was the best choice, mostly because they couldn't be seen arguing with each other when Tritter's just arrived.

"She didn't tell me anything, she wasn't  _gossiping_  or anything. She was saying and she mention it, because of course she was sure that you would have told me that you have done that to an Immigration Agent that  _happened_  to be the one who is investigating you." He stopped, swallowing hard, and shook his head nearly imperceptibly. "She was as shocked as I were. All I knew was that he was a jerk who accurately thought we weren't a real couple, but that he could be convinced. From where I'm standing, it looks like Tritter will go to hell and back to ruin your life. "His voice was pained, and he wasn't glaring anymore. "What were you thinking, House? Do you really think it doesn't matter at all? You can't be that stupid. You hid it on purpose, so I wouldn't know how screwed up we actually are, didn't you?"

It was worse to face Wilson's deception and hopelessness than his anger. Still, House believed it would work. It had to work; then more than ever. "Listen, I didn't plan any of this. Not the Immigration issue, not Tritter, certainly not... Not you." He kept looking at Wilson, with a plain face. "The thing is, Tritter is a self-important jerk, but he's just too proud of his job to take his vengeance to this level. It's still about to convince him. He's not a certain threat, just the potential threat you knew he would be."

House wasn't that sure, though. Tritter seemed to have fun watching him talking about the wedding, like a mean child about to kick another's sand castle.

"I bet you both are living on a dream. Let's just cross our fingers to wish nobody will ruin such a true, strong love story. Well, it's all up to you." Those were the words he said just before leaving House at the cafeteria, who spent the rest of the morning thinking about it. He felt annoyed to be in such a stupid situation, with stupid conditions, so immersed in it that he ended up being just as stupid, which annoyed him the most. He reached for Wilson's hand over the table, covering it with his own. "You don't have to worry. What I said in the beginning, I meant it. If things go bad, I'll confess everything and say I threatened you."

"Don't-" He pulled his hand back from House's, to run it through his face. He breathed in between clenched teeth. "It's not possible that after all you really think that's the problem." He closed his eyes and rubbed his eyelids with his fingertips. His eyes were completely dry, but the lump in his throat made his voice falter for a second within the last words. "That  _this_  is what I am worried about. "He swallowed hard and stared hard at House. "I had to find out by other people and I still feel like you're not telling me it all, and I wonder why. I don't know who you are trying to protect, if it's me, yourself, or... us, but you are failing, because you seem so eager it even feels like I should lose hope." Again he breathed in, straightening his posture, nodding and shrugging in a weird gesture. "You know what, I don't want to know. I can't fight and I don't want to talk about it, not today, I can't. Nothing changed and I still have a lot to do." He picked his phone in his pocket and stared at it, still talking. "I'll pretend I got a message, I'll get up, I'll kiss you and I'll leave. You can call the waiter and say our lunch is to go. I don't care, I'm... not hungry."

It felt wrong in every way that they were talking like that, that Wilson looked hurt and felt betrayed, that they had to pretend everything was fine when it clearly wasn't. House shook his head and reached for Wilson's hand after the brief kiss." James, wait..." But Wilson had already gave his back to him and crossed the dining room fast. It was childish to pretend it wasn't his fault, but he wanted to be childish, immature, blameless. Since he couldn't, he had to deal with that mess in the best way possible.

Some minutes later, he was leaving for their room, carrying the food that probably wouldn't be touched so soon, when he bumped into Thirteen.

"There's no need to run, there are still a few hours until the party."

She smiled. "House." She looked around, and he already knew what she was about to ask.

"He's taking care of the last details."

Her smile diminished a little. "I see. Is there something bothering you? Besides being away from your sweetheart, I mean."

He raised his eyebrow slightly at her. "One need to be foolishly smiling all the time in their wedding day? I didn't read the memo."

Thirteen rolled her eyes. "None of my business, I understood. God, I'm starving. I had some problems to solve before coming, I almost lost my flight. I can't take travelling by car for too long. It seems I arrived before everybody else. Are you taking food for Wilson?"

House looked away for a moment, unconsciously. "No, he's too busy. Fancy having lunch with me?"

While talking to her, House decided he didn't want to be alone with his thoughts. They found a place to sit outside, with the wind blowing the leaves of the tree above their table. He wasn't exactly hungry, and he didn't feel like talking. She seemed to notice, and carried on with the conversation almost all by herself, asking questions just to keep him participating. After some time though, she stared at him.

"I think we've already danced too much around it. What happened?"

"Nothing happened. As you've said, I'm just missing my huggy bear." He answered, shrugging. She sighed. "What? Does it always have to be me screwing up things? I'm not the jerk you all think I am."

"That is you saying, not me." She raised her hands. What, is he having second thoughts? Are  _you_  having second thoughts?"

When House stared at her, she shrugged. "It's a pretty scaring thing, marriage. Totally understandable."

"I'm not scared."

"Fine. I'm just saying it is okay to be afraid. It's a commitment we can't be really sure if we'll be able to keep. Too many things to take care. And even if I'm not saying you've screwed it up, it's a possibility. The only thing left to do when it happens is trying to fix it. Odds it will happen in a relationship are big enough to cause concern, that's why I think marriage can be something really brave, if not stupidity. In your case... I'd say it's brave." She smiled, and even if she wasn't aware of anything, House couldn't help thinking she was absolutely right.

"You're just saying that because you're hoping I'll ask you to be my maid of honour."

Laughing, she shrugged. "Do you want me to?"

"It depends. Is your dress pretty enough?

...

"What's with the frown, groom? It's your day, dear. You need to shine more than that beautiful day outside!" Jeremy had a playful tone, sitting beside Amanda with his computer on his lap, when Wilson got in the room.

"I know, just... I just need a moment of peace." He sat on the couch swallowing hard and sighing, hoping that would mean the  _shut up_  his kindness couldn't let him say. "I can't go out, there's someone who can't see me this way, I need to stay here."

The smiles in both their expressions faded soon when Wilson leaned his elbows in his knees and buried his face in his hands. After a moment of silence, Amanda spoke out, pressing her lips.

"You two had a fight, didn't you?"

"I really don't wan't to talk about this now, please."

Amanda and Jeremy exchanged helpless stares, until Jeremy sighed. "Ok, but can I say something? Taken from all the weddings we've been through, it's really common a couple to fight in these moments. You know that thing they say about a wedding day, that a groom is not supposed to see the bride in the wedding dress because it is bad luck? People invented it because if they do see each other, they fight, that's the bad luck. A couple about to marry always do. It's too much to worries and too many feelings. It's not serious."

"Thank you, Jeremy, but it's more complicated than that." He looked at Amanda. "Michael Tritter, from the Immigration, is here."

"What? He's here in Vermont?" Amanda opened her eyes wider.

"He is here  _in the hotel_."

"Who's the guy?" Jeremy looked at them, confused, and the blonde explained, placing her hands on her waist.

"The reason James came to me was because they needed to hurry their wedding, because a guy from the Immigration, this Tritter, wanted to deport Gregory to the UK."

It's... they have a past, let me put this way. Tritter is going to do whatever it takes."

"You just tell me who he is and I assure you the security-" Amanda was emphatic.

"Mandy, honey, wait a sec." Jeremy raised a finger and sat down beside Wilson. "So you say they have a past. There's two things I need to know then. Is the guy Gregory's ex or something?"

"No, no,  _no_." Wilson point-blank denied, and even chuckled bitterly. "Well, at least, I hope Cuddy wasn't using a metaphor when she said thermometer." He said to himself, humming, glancing at the other side of the room for a second. "Gregory... did something to him. Something extremely stupid, childish and reckless."

Jeremy nodded. "Was it a crime? Are you marrying a criminal, dear?"

Wilson again chuckled, but still bitterly. "It's... not life-ruining, but beyond disrespectful, I'd say his honor is hurt. But it seems the indemnization is paid already, the lawsuit is over."

"Fine, then. If this is over, and he is a government agent, he needs to be impartial about his job, right? He can sabotage your fiancé all the ways he want, but he can't use his job to do it. And coming all the way to Vermont is just a tiny bit of obsession, hun? Let's do this, you show  _me_  who he is, and I'll take so many pictures it will be like he's the bride." Jeremy was assembling his camera like it was a rifle. "Then you'll have proofs he is stalking you, and every decision He takes will need to be reevaluated. Oh how I love I dropped journalism for this,  _this_  is actual reporter investigation."

Wilson smiled again, shaking his head lightly. "Don't do this. If he sees you-"

Jeremy interrupted him. "Excuse me.  _If he sees me?_  Sweetie, you're being offensive. Mandy, then you can call security to shut him out of the party, we don't want this creeper with our loverbirds, sure. You two will only leave the States when you'll be in the second honeymoon in Paris paid with Mike's money and the government's. You'll send me a postcard thanking."

Both Wilson and Amanda knew he was exaggerating, and something in Jeremy's eyes told Wilson that he also knew it. But that was the spirit, and that was the strength he needed to have. The day was still the same it was in that morning, when he was waking up beside House and watched through the hottest pornographic movie ever made only in the reflex of the mirror. Things wouldn't change out of a sudden, for better or for worse, and once again Wilson sighed.

Amanda held his face and caressed it tenderly with her thumb once. "Don't let this give any wrinkle in this handsome face of yours, right? And by the way, what do you say I call my girl and we give you a skin mask and some hair treatment?" Wilson shook his head, smiling faintly.

"I know this is a good distraction for the brides you usually work with, but I don't need it, thanks."

"Shut up, everyone needs it. Accept it now that someone is willing to massage your face for free." Jeremy completed, and Wilson just shrugged in response, staring at Amanda's smile. It was actually suffocating. He couldn't go outside, wandering alone for everyone to see, and he couldn't go to his room, not right then - he could make it worse and they could fight more, and he'd never want anything less. He just wanted the peace he was feeling before back. But the only place he had was there, but it was for the Best that he didn't have any time to breathe and to think things straight.

...

The guests were arriving, and, all of a sudden, House found himself surrounded by an atmosphere filled with laughs and light talk. Chase, Cameron, Foreman, Taub and Kutner soon joined Thirteen and him; then Cuddy; then Lucas. Besides the detective, he couldn't really say he had seen them all out of their workplace, and even Cuddy seemed to forget about her never-ending worries. They all mocked at how Taub had left his wife at home, even if House could read in his embarrassed expression that there was a kind of resentment suggesting some fight - it was not necessary to spoil it all with questioning.

It was some good time under the sun; but he couldn't quite enjoy it to the fullest. When he went back to the room, he didn't expect to find Wilson there, but maybe he hoped so - looking at the bed caused him to press his lips and then sigh, a heavy sigh he seemed to be holding since that quiet scene at the table. It was still too early. He'd have to wait for Amanda to bring his tux, and there was plenty of time for him to run in circles from every thought he didn't want to have; every 'what if' he refused to considerate. Thirteen's words were something to concentrate on, taking him away from things he couldn't do nothing to change. As time went by, he became more and more sure that there wasn't another way. He didn't take much time to find Tritter in that hotel; a few questions and he found the man wearing that same stupid smile.

"I am sorry. I shouldn't have done that to you. It was unnecessary and stupid." Before the agent could say anything, House went on. "You said you wanted me to apologize. And I can say truthfully that there's nothing I regret more." He looked down. "Here, I just did what I had to do. I expect you to do the same and leave us alone." Turning away, he walked back to his room, to wait for Amanda and hope for the best. Something that would be so unlike him as what he had just done.

When he heard the knock on his door, he answered it, looking calm and controlled. Amanda greeted him and entered, avoiding his gaze. She left the suit over the bed, and it looked just as great as on the day he and Wilson chose it together. Amanda started to talk.

"I'm sending someone from my staff to help you get ready, even if I can't really think what could we do with your hair. Maybe just leave it how it is, it can be very charming with the tux..."

"Amanda. How's James?" House interrupted, and she took some seconds to answer.

"He is good. I mean, really happy with everything." It sounded like the cheap comforting words one say in a funeral.

With a sigh, he looked away. "Has he eaten?"

"Not since the lunch he had with you." She answered, looking at him for the first time.

"Just make sure he eats something. There's no need to send anyone." She nodded.

"Fine. I'll tell you what you'll need to do." She instructed him on the schedule and the arrangements, and he told her about Thirteen. She pressed her lips together.

"You should have told me earlier. But luckily, it won't be a problem."

"Lucky Thirteen." He said to himself, chuckling. Before leaving the room, she put a hand on his arm, after some hesitation.

"Everything's gonna be fine, you'll see." She smiles reassuringly and then walked to the door. "I'll send someone anyway. You need some make up. See you later, Gregory." House rolled his eyes. But he had to admit later, all dressed up and ready, when he looked in that same mirror which had reflected their faces contorted with pleasure; he looked great. As he walked out of the room, he breathed deeply, and he was as ready as he could ever be.

...

"God, he looks handsome." The young woman with long, dark hair said to Jeremy. Wilson was staring at his image in the mirror after tying and untying the bow-tie over and over again. In what that mirror would show, he was missing the rest of the scene to watch. The other protagonist. It was as if he couldn't see House in front of him or beside him, but through the reflection he would see, and around his waist he would feel the embrace, the kiss in his nape. Nothing was happening, though; nothing would happen there. He was just seeing the untidy room, the rests of a meal he barely ate on the table and himself. Although no one left him by himself that afternoon and he loved their company, he felt tremendously alone.

"Why is the sad face back, darling?" he heard Jeremy's voice again. But Wilson just kept on staring at his own eyes.

"I've been so dumb." he let his shoulders fall.

"What?" he asked.

"I've been so dumb. We'll work this out. Of course we will. What had actually changed?" He laughed in disbelief at himself. "Of course he screwed things up, but I let this get into this day, today! I left him that way, what if...?"

"Let what?" The brunette girl asked, but Jeremy gestured for her not to talk, getting closer to the groom.

"Dear, first finish dressing. Don't worry. Amanda is with Gregory now."

"Where is my phone?"

"He knows you'll be there. And you'll be there in less than two hours."

"Just a text!"

"Don't do this to you two."

And it hasn't been just that time - they had been telling him what to do all that afternoon. Wilson felt like they were acting like paramedics, not even hearing him, just telling him he would be just fine while strapping his arms to the sides, because otherwise he would just open all his wounds. And he was nervous, he was concerned about the chance of doing something wrong, so he obeyed them, because he could have married before, but they were the ones with experience.

He followed schedule. He ate. Rehearsed. Had his hair done. There, in front of that half-empty mirror, he decided again the bow tie wasn't okay yet, and loosened the knot again. The brunette crossed her arms.

"You won't freak out and run, will you? We hate this part." She chuckled.

Wilson finally smiled wide, turning to her. "No, how could I? I'm marrying Gregory. I am as ready as I could ever be."

...

The sun was going down when House left the hotel, walking behind an already dressed Amanda to the place Wilson had showed him the day before. When he got to look at it, though, it was really hard to believe it was the same place; surely it would take more than one day for it all to change that much. There were roses, orchids, hydrangeas, branches of cherry blossom and flowers he couldn't name. The wedding arch was covered in more flowers and silk, and he could see some tiny dots of light sparkling on it. There were chandeliers over the table, and the candles were protected from the wind by the glass surrounding them. There were lamps like Christmas lights over it all, and even if there wasn't moon, they wouldn't be in the dark. Most of their guests were already there, and he spotted Thirteen in the front seat, waiting for it all to begin. She was talking to Chase and Cameron, and they all looked stunning. His maid of honour got up to greet him, and held the fabric of her dress.

"Am I pretty enough, groom?" House smiled at the pale violet dress before saying anything.

"No, you're not. You are way beyond pretty enough." She laughed, and he laughed, and Amanda approached them.

"Miss Hadley..." she began, but was interrupted.

"Please, I asked you to call me Remy. Thirteen's fine too."

The blonde smiled at her and nodded. "Fine, Remy. Do you have any doubts about... anything?"

Thirteen reassured her she didn't, and then House had to do the same for what could be the fourth time. The blonde then left him there to check on the rest, and House smirked when he saw Thirteen looking at Amanda. Things were going their own way, and nothing could go wrong... Unless Wilson decided not to show up. The Justice of the Peace was already there, behind the table, and House could see in everyone's look that it wasn't his paranoia attacking him: Wilson was indeed late.

Each second seemed to blur the beauty surrounding him, and he couldn't see the little white candle pendants becoming more visible as the sun slowly disappeared in the West. He played their last conversation over an over in his mind, because there he couldn't run from desperation and anxiety. If Wilson didn't show up... His heart would be broken. He could feel the pressure over his chest already.

Standing there, where Amanda told him to be, holding his own hands, was the worst thing to do in such a situation. He wanted to run to the hotel and certify that Wilson was there, covered in some weird moisturizer, with his hair being brushed a thousand times and his tux thrown over the bed, waiting for him to get ready. Amanda was taking too long to come back, and it came to a time House couldn't ignore his fears. He pictured the blonde coming back and whispering in his ear, discreetly, something like "I'm sorry, Gregory, he had already made up his mind". He pictured himself staring dumbstruck at everybody for a second until all the candles melted and he was left alone in the cold wind.

All those ways to abandon him there, and still he kept staring ahead, because it  _had_  to happen. He needed James Wilson. And though he thought about his green card, it certainly wasn't the main reason for his desperation. All those days beside that extraordinary young man, just to lose him in the end because of some stupidity? He just couldn't bear. Until he could see Wilson smiling, walking in his direction, he would feel nothing but inquietude, which tasted like hopelessness and regret. He could only be forgiven by Wilson's smile.


	22. Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I couldn't get any bigger_   
>  _With anyone else beside me_   
>  _And now it's clear as this promise_   
>  _That we're making_   
>  _Two reflections into one_
> 
> _Justin Timberlake, "Mirrors"_

"I wouldn't use it if it weren't safe. Stop, you are losing it, James. If anything happens I have an extra pair" Amanda had said.

"You have an extra pair of wedding rings?" he frowned at her.

"Yes. Let's go or you'll be late." She had said it, and the word was everything he needed in order to stop just trembling and start  _shaking_. Wilson didn't want to walk until there, he wanted to stop somewhere, lean his back in a tree and breathe in and out for at least five minutes.

The sky was in a darker shade of blue, blending to rose at the distance, behind the hills. The wedding arch and everything around, in a discreet wrap of pastel tones and a brush of a strong scarlet just once, he had seen it all before, in the afternoon; but there, he would be _astonished_ three thousand times and then once more. At the way the light dots seemed to come from nowhere, like fireflies standing still. At how the sun was still there, casting its light that seemed to create no shadow, though everything was outlined by dark and darker shapes. At the perfect delicacy of each flower petal. It was hard to perceive things when he was that nervous, and it was hard to hear anything when his heart was throbbing so furiously, but there was a murmur from the guests.

He looked away for one moment, at the glisten of the daylight on the river's surface. It came to his mind, suddenly, the day that led to it all. 'You're running a bit late, James', Jillian probably said, and he held the two cups of coffee. How did it turn out to be that miscellaneous of light spots and discreet flowers, and how their fraud turned out to be the realest thing he could ever feel, in the end he just forgot. There was no explanation that would fit, or that would matter right then.

A bit ahead in what seemed to be a green immensity of the grass, people were still sitting down, the last ones. Not exactly late, then. Right on time, a bit too much. Fine, he thought, then chuckled all by himself. Nothing was even near fine. It was either collapsing, like his thoughts and his heart in his chest, or immeasurably wonderful to a point he couldn't cope. He took a deep breath against the cool breeze and the scent of orchids and roses filled his breath.

Here he was, once more he couldn't stop smiling. Nevertheless, it was still somehow a smirk - he couldn't smile as wide as he wanted before he'd see Gregory. It was like they had been fighting for days, and that he had been regretting it for weeks. He feared to have broken something. He feared he had not said clearly enough to House that the only thing he wanted was to be with him. It felt like that paradise made out of candles and silk was always one day ahead of them, one inch ahead of his hand, but he was walking towards it, and it was happening.

Jeremy's sharp eyes had already spotted the other groom arriving, and he had them both on the the lens perfectly as he wanted, because he knew what would happen when their eyes meet again. He knew everything would be left behind. All the guests, all the flowers and the dots of light, all the trouble, the before and the after would fade for that one second, and their expressions would be so contagious everyone watching would have their faces taken by a smile, too.

When finally Wilson stepped into the light, beside the arch, he could see who he was looking for. The other groom looking away, through the guests and everything like a soldier, showing nothing at all in his concentrated eyes. There he was, Gregory. The bad wolf and the Siberian husky. Pumpkin pie, cherry on top, gummy bear, dandelion, teapot, tiger, daddy and whatever those silly names he wanted to to give him. From the genius boss to the ex-crack addict. His kiss under the rain, his partner in crime, his reckless drive, his piano song, his champagne bath, the half of his reflection in the mirror. There he was, and Wilson was smiling again.

House was serious like it was actually a funeral, and in those few seconds he didn't look, Wilson wanted to call him, but he couldn't. Could he? It didn't matter, Wilson could barely talk. His boss, his friend, his lover, his fiancé. He was there, stunning in a tuxedo, about to marry him, Gregory House, and Wilson wanted to look at the clear sky of his eyes on his so he would be even more speechless, so there wouldn't be any night at all. He stopped where he was supposed to be, and all the smiles widening in the guests' faces would surely make by themselves House notice his presence.

All that anxiety and worry, fear even; it felt for House like a poison, burning his throat. Everyone seemed to be there already, with their faces illuminated by the ethereal light coming from the candle bulbs above them. It was stupidity to worry whether Wilson would show up or not; House knew him too well already to know he wouldn't just run away. Still he felt everything ache inside of him for the moment he'd see him, touch him. In that dreamy place, in the stage under the limelight, he was just playing his part - but most of all, he was just a character. Waiting for fate to play its part, waiting for the one still missing, facing the crowd with nothing but his self. The guests then turned their heads, and he was already bursting inside, knowing who he'd see when he looked at that same spot not too far away from him. Every second was made of expectance, and he turned his head to the place where he knew Wilson was, a little too fast - not that he noticed it.

The moment their eyes met was fractioned in all the pictures Jeremy took in sequence, but the pictures would never be able contain the unique view they both had. House's face changed completely when he acknowledged it all, and there wasn't any hesitation in his lips. The smile couldn't get any wider, and it was relief, it was amazement; it was pure joy. Wilson wouldn't believe in reading someone's look at the fullest; but maybe they were too open already, and he perceived each detail in his fiance's face with an ability he never had so keen. He saw the look House gave to him change, gradually and in a second, from a regardless gaze at the horizon to an enchanted stare right at his eyes. Wilson couldn't describe the sensation of being the only and one reason for an empty look to fulfill so greatly with rejoice, wonder, even solace.

It was funny the way he was meant to dance the steps, to act the scenes, say the lines, so he only stepped towards, calmly, though his heart was racing more than ever. People watching them wasn't actually what he'd like to have for them, but, in fact, it wasn't that bad. It was heartwarming to feel everyone's approval, care and delight. And, after all, Wilson had that feeling that it was a metaphor for them - though everyone was already watching, all he could see was House's eyes, always.

The Justice of Peace greeted them with a low voice and his mouth away from the microphone, asked them if they were ready and he could start it all. Wilson cleaned his throat and finally stopped looking at House to turn his eyes to the people in the altar. Amanda was by his side and Thirteen by House's, and he nodded at them, and then at the man who was to perform their wedding.

"I'm more than ready." Again, they had their lines to follow. They had a cue and a free pass to each hyperbole, and it unchained everything that could ever hold him back. So he looked back at House as he completed. He was kindly smiling at everyone, but there was a type of smile that Wilson reserved only to him. "There's nothing I want more in the world."

That Wilson would look astonishing in his tuxedo, House already knew. Knowing didn't keep him from admiring his fiancé - his husband-to-be. James' hair fell delicately over his forehead, in a way that suggested he had done that in purpose, knowing how Gregory liked his hair like that. The bright smile directed at him was making him mad, when all he wanted was to take James in his arms and kiss him deeply, holding him close after that never-ending day. They had to keep some distance, not to hide the Justice of the Peace from the guests, but even that small space felt like too much. At the same time that he wanted to say 'screw it' to everything and forget all of Amanda's instructions and plans, he wanted to go on with that silly rite, to say those commonplace words to Wilson in front of everybody, to put the ring on the younger's finger and watch his reactions to each of his words.

The Justice of Peace then started to talk, greeting the guests. "Today, we are here to celebrate love, joining Gregory and James in marriage and sharing the joy of this event." House wasn't quite listening. At some point, though, he found himself paying attention to what the man was saying. "Rilke, in his book 'Letters to a Young Poet', wrote: 'The point of marriage is not to create a quick commonality by tearing down all boundaries; on the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be the guardian of his solitude, and thus they show each other the greatest possible trust.' Trust, my friends, to allow the other to share the happiness, the sorrow. To show the other not only strength, but also the weakness. To play an essential part in the other's life, and still respect their wills knowing there's only so much you can see through their eyes. Always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky, with infinite wonders and also some hidden disquietude."

From time to time, Wilson got too distracted staring at House, and he had to keep on trying to listen, worried that there would come a moment in which he would be asked something and he wouldn't have listen. It looked like they exchanged the most telling looks, and, among the beautiful words of the Justice of Peace's speech, they had their own quiet, simple talk. He was sure House understood the way he smirked when his eyes looked at him from head to toes, from the bed head he just loved to see to the Converse in his feet like a stubborn way of telling he wouldn't just surrender to the tuxedo - that happened to suit him so well, and he looked smoking hot. Wilson narrowed his eyes afterwards, and House even chuckled, aware of its meaning, and still silent.

The wind was blowing easily, carrying to him the scent of the flowers, and it all made it easier to breathe. Then the promises, again, in the sentences still in the air. In one point, he heard "Marriage is not supposed to be a cage from which one would want to run away eventually. It is, above all, the decision to be free by someone else's side, letting go of what you think you should be to reveal yourself as you are. Love, and be loved in return."

Wilson didn't hold on to any cheap poetry, but to the one he actually had. The sun was already setting, casting its last rays over them, but it was all somehow true. He was slightly less nervous, because being there with Gregory would give him the safety he needed, the light he needed. And then, when the man said "Being assured that both of you are aware of the meaning of this ceremony, and that you both do it by free will, we shall proceed to the vows.", Wilson was paying the most complete attention. He made a small pause, in which the younger felt like his own heart had missed a beat, and then he went on said it. "James Evan Wilson, do you take Gregory House to be your husband?"

Wilson just took a small breath. His pulse raced faster. and, within a smile, he answered, firmly and decisively." I do."

"Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only unto him forevermore?"

"I do." He repeated, just as safe.

Two words. Personal pronoun and an irregular verb. Three letters, containing a whole universe. Something that meant 'I will be there to kiss you when you wake up' as well as 'I will put up with your shit, whatever it is.' House's eyes, forever glued to the brown-haired male who had become his best friend, his lover, his everyday life, glistened with the reflection of the lights surrounding them. Staring at the man who could blush in front of strangers and swear loudly by his ear. Whose kisses were always heartfelt, being soft or hungry. Whose hands always seemed to find his own and hold them, and it felt right, it was happiness.

The Justice of Peace turned to him and asked the same questions, and he deviated his eyes to him. "Gregory House, do you take James Evan Wilson to be your husband?"

House was grinning widely. Clearing his throat, he spoke, loud and clear. "I do."

"Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only unto him forevermore?"

"I do." House looked at Wilson, with that placid smile, when he was in fact euphoric. The guests looked magnetized by their joy, and no one looked around out of boredom. They were surrendered to the feelings shown in every smile and every look, feeling their happiness and its diamond-like sharpness, a kind of beauty that inspired the wonderment to grow in their hearts and squeeze it, no mercy shown. It made them feel proud and honoured to be part of that, to be able to see it happening. The grooms were completely immersed in each other's gaze, though, and they could as well not even acknowledge the guests' presence.

"May we now have the rings?" The Justice of Peace asked in an affirmation tone. In that moment, Wilson swallowed hard and looked at his Maid of Honor.

Wilson had asked her if she trusted it enough to do it. "I'd trust it a blind child of mine, James." She answered. "Plus, I've managed doing much more complicated ones. One day, it was a damn parrot. Don't even ask."

There, in the wedding, when the night had fallen and the guests were waiting, Amanda smirked and, instead of the rings, she picked a whistle inside of her purse. When she blew it, no sound came out, as it was the intention. House frowned, probably already understanding, but not accepting it - Wilson just winked at him.

The couple of seconds without answer were really smashing, but the guests already expected someone to bring the said rings, looking away. What would be their surprise when a black Labrador dog walked in the aisle, carrying a small basket, the handle between his teeth. There were touched, amused laughter, easy ones. Wilson pressed his lips together not to laugh loud, looking at Amanda.

"You put the dog in a tux." he whispered to her.

"Ok, I couldn't resist, blame on me." She raised her hands, laughing weakly. It worked greatly to break any tension left. The murmur rose, in between comments and the wide smiles in everyone's face, and there were multiple endeared 'aww' when the dog stopped in front of them both and sat down, carefully putting his snout under House's hand, for him to pick the ring case in the basket. When House looked at Wilson, the younger shrugged, always smiling.

House couldn't believe his eyes, or even the sensation of having soft fur under his palm. The dog had chocolate brown eyes, exactly like Wilson's, and its dark fur was glimmering under the lights. He caressed the dog's head for a brief moment and reached for the case in the basket, and then he heard Amanda calling the dog quietly to her side, being immediately obeyed.

With a smile, he looked at the case and felt his heart beating faster, though easily. When his eyes locked on Wilson's again, he felt the urge to touch his face and kiss him grow inside of him, to the point of being unbearable. But the moment was close. House handed the case to Thirteen, who held it opened for him to pick up Wilson's ring. Leaving his cane resting on the table, he held Wilson's left hand among his own, breathing in deeply, the tiny piece of gold between their palms, looking at the brown eyes before him.

"James. As I stand here before you, feeling the warmth of your hand, looking into your eyes, I rejoice for all the days I've spent with you and for all the other yet to come. As I stand here before you, I offer you myself, heart and soul. I see in you the spark of life and truth I've yearned for so long; the one I want to share happiness with and protect from sorrow, to cherish and support, for better or for worse, in sickness as in health." Raising James' hand gently from his right one, which had the ring over its palm, Gregory deviated his eyes briefly from the other groom, to be sure of holding the ring in the right way as even the weak trembling of his hand could cause some clumsiness and ruin it all. After caressing James' hand softly with his thumb, he went on, staring into the brown eyes again. "With this ring, let it be known that I chose you, and I will always choose you. Let it be known, that with this ring, I'm promising to be here for you for the rest of years, 'til death do us part." With those words, he slid the ring over James' finger, taking the hand to his lips, placing a kiss over the gold and the skin surrounding it.

Wilson's mind went blank when he felt the soft kiss in his fingers. Everything that he was supposed to say vanished, but he managed to breathe in and out and not panic. Just a few lines, sure; but it had been also just three letters for something that would mean truth out of all the rehearsed lines he said or heard. Nothing could tell him - the thought didn't even touch him - that they had another reason to do what they were doing than having the chance to confess what was bleeding painlessly inside his over-sized heart. Closing his eyes for a second, it was actually easy to remember. There was a paper with the vows in his pocket if he needed it, but he wouldn't. He just needed to say it. From everything he had to make up and to know by heart, this one was actually the easiest to come up with. With his right hand, he held House's left, and the grip he felt in response made him stop shaking that much. With the other , he held the gold ring.

"Gregory." He took a deep breath and cleaned his throat, continuing in a good, steady voice. "As I stand before you, my heart beating so loud in my ears, I find myself lost for the right words to say." At this first one, he couldn't look right at House's eyes, because he was still trying to remember. After that, it just went with the flow. "As I stand before you, I can't remember a moment in which I didn't want to be by your side, nor a day in which I wouldn't want to be yours for life. And today is the day I offer myself open-hearted to you, to the fullest and deepest. You're my reason to smile, and I want to spend the rest of my days trying to make you feel the same. But when the smile is taken off of our faces, I will be with you, for there is no problem to come, force of men or oceans on Earth enough to break us apart." He lowered his eyes to House's hand, raising it. The ungainly movement he made needed to be quick, worried he could ruin something or he'd tremble too much. "With this ring, let it be known that I chose you, and I will always choose you. Let it be known, that with this ring, I'm promising to be here for you for the rest of years, 'til death do us part." He recited the last sentences and looked at House's hand, with the gold ring on. His dark eyes were glimmering under the dots of lights, and he stared at House's eyes once more, holding both of his hands.

The Justice of the Peace then spoke "If there is anyone present who may show just and lawful cause why this couple may not be legally wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace". As no one said a word, he went on. "Therefore, by the authority vested in me by State of Vermont, I now pronounce you both married. You may kiss."

House felt as if he was going to burst at any moment, from that much feelings, from that much emotion. Such a foolish joy the one that took over him, such a bittersweet sensation Wilson's vows brought to his chest. There, in between fake fireflies and ephemeral flowers, his heart blossomed permanently as he became conscious of it, with each atom of the love he felt for that man. James Wilson. His husband. With their hands still together, their lips touched - and all the wait was over, all the anguish had gone away from their hearts. The guests started to clap and the air was filled with gleeful voices, and House pulled Wilson's body closer to his own, letting go of his hands to hold both sides of his face, deepening the kiss. He could hear as Thirteen and Amanda laughed, delighted, but his attention was all Wilson's - his raced heartbeats, his warm skin, his moist lips, his perfume, his body so close to him after what felt like a lifetime away. He couldn't tell whether it was happiness he was feeling. It was strong, and it ached in his chest, but it was at the same time blissful, magnificent. Maybe he hadn't really believe all of that would really happen. It had always felt too far, too improbable - and there they were, sharing their first kiss as a married couple, while he felt his heart implode in his chest with each second he spent in James' arms. His James. Everything he needed.

Who'd say. Who, of all the guests, could imagine that from bearing mocking Wilson would now be bearing the immeasurable weight of such enchanted stares. From exchanging defy, he'd now respond with wonder. Who'd say Jeremy would have pictures even more beautiful than he imagined at first, showing - exposing - unrestrainedly all the emotions from the moment their eyes met to when their lips met, lips in between lips, second after second, cheers and joyful expressions. Most of all, who of them both, the now husbands, would say that there was a chance, a hint, that this moment wouldn't be a hard play, but only putting on a stage two people completely in love with each other and the perfect result would come so easily.

Wilson's hands held House's jacket and he even slightly raised his heels from the ground. His chest expanded against the other's and their heartbeats were drumming incoherently. Although they would keep the kiss discreet, without tongue or anything to show lust, their mouths opened carefully, as if it was too much need to just cope. At the moment Wilson thought clearly, by all means, that he was kissing "his husband Gregory House" he let out one soft laughter, that fixed as a permanent as Wilson smiled once more - it would never be just once more - and broke the kiss. The cheerful noise. The uncertain lights. The starry night starting. The smell of flowers and House's perfume. The echo of the vows still spreading inside them. His heart pounding and his head spinning fast. His hands slid to his husband's face while his eyes were still closed, and he leaned his forehead in House's, letting the warm sensation soak his chest and drain to his entire body. As smoothly, he slid his hands down House's arms to his hands, interlacing their fingers firmly.

"Hey, husband." House said, in a low voice, just for Wilson to hear. "You look gorgeous."

"You look stunning." he hummed in the same tone. "My smoking hot husband." he stepped a bit back. "God, I want to kiss you so much."

House smirked. "Just like I do. I just can't wait for the moment we'll..." Before House could say anything else, Jeremy approached them.

"God, it was so beautiful, you both are so perfect together, I can't... I don't even know. Well, congratulations, happy couple! Now come with me, we need some more pictures. But first, a picture with the Maids of Honour! Mandy, you stay here beside James; Remy, isn't it? Here, beside Gregory. Wow, there's just too much gorgeous people for just one picture." They all laughed at the young photographer's enthusiasm, and he took the picture.

"Now just the ladies, please; you both stay close to the dog already."

House and Wilson remained where they were, not that eager to be photographed. House observed as Thirteen and Amanda walked to the side, not to far away from them, beside a branch of cherry blossom, and grinned, looking at Wilson again. "Don't you think our Maids of Honour have got along very well? Look at the way Thirteen placed her hand on Amanda's waist."

"How come I didn't notice?" he looked at them. "Whoa, that would be so awesome. We can... We'll go on with our plan of getting everyone drunk, won't we? Not drunk, just..." He laughed weakly, caressing House's hand with his thumb as if the talk was just casual, naive. "What if they give it a try, I'm here to confirm this kind of daring is so worth it."

House just smiled in response, before pulling their lips together in a kiss. Being that close to Wilson always had been good - in that night, it was necessary. He needed him there, to be assured it was real everytime their hands touched. The ring felt weird in his finger, as it was supposed to feel since he wasn't used to wear it, and it felt good. Each time he passed his thumb over his ring finger and felt the metal on it was a reminder of what they had just done. The promises they made didn't matter much for him, but the fact that they were made. The fact that they felt like promising it in that moment, to say those words and mean it; it was way much important. When they opened their eyes and broke the kiss, Jeremy was there, smiling.

"It's a pity to steal you both from this moment. But I promise it will be over soon. Besides, you'll thank me later." He turned to the dog, who observed it all with a funny serenity, and called it. "What a good pretty boy you are. Strike a pose!"

"Suddenly, then, Jeremy turned his back on them, weirdly, as if he was done there. It was like he got tired of the smiles that were already becoming fake ones, stopped playing with the poses and his lens were free to capture real moments. When the photographer left, the black Labrador looked right at Wilson. Their brown eyes just alike, and just as sweet, was like empathy.

"Hey, boy! Com'ere." Wilson let go of House's hand and crouched. The dog walked calmly to him and sat down again. "Who's the cutest ring bearer in the world? You are." He chuckled at what he himself said, while the dog opened its mouth, wagging his tail. Even when he didn't respond as a regular, untrained dog, it was visible he was enjoying the petting. "Greg, I'm stealing him. There's no coming back, hope you don't mind you've just married a criminal."

House chuckled. "We've been married for ten minutes and we've already got a dog; you were right, we'll never make it to Las Vegas with our five kids."

Cuddy approached them with a warm smile. "Congratulations. I never really thought you were going all the way with it, but you both... You're a beautiful couple." She still had a look of doubt and worry on her face, but it was attenuated by the tone of her voice. "Maybe now that you both are married, you'll leave your love for home and not for the locker room."

Wilson breathed in suddenly and coughed, getting up while scratching his nape, smiling embarrassed. "Thank you for your words, Lisa." he held House's hand again. "It's good to be... settling down." he looked down with a crooked smile.

"We'll leave love for home, but when it comes to sex, the MRI is the limit. Or maybe it isn't. We never know what tomorrow will bring, don't they say? "

Cuddy pressed her lips into a thin a line and narrowed her eyes at House, ending up just letting loose a restrained laugh. Cameron and Chase approached them, followed by Foreman, Taub and Kutner. Cameron congratulated House and Wilson, and then Chase did the same, and both of them looked a little downhearted. Foreman and Taub felicitated them too, sounding cordial but kind, while Kutner immediately reached for the dog, to pat its head.

"What a pretty dog, is it yours?"

"No, not yet. But adopting is an option, isn't it, darling? I know you prefer wild animals, but a dog is always a good choice." House squeezed Wilson's hand, winking at him. "For now all I want is some wine. Where's Amanda?" She was still talking to Thirteen, and House just grinned, looking at Wilson. "Well, from now on we own this party, it seems. I think it's time to get it started."


	23. La vie en rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _When you press me to your heart_   
>  _I'm in a world apart_   
>  _A world where roses bloom_
> 
>  
> 
> _Louis Armstrong, "La vie en rose"_

After group pictures and congratulations, they were all leaving to the hotel. Looking at everyone, Wilson perceived something weird about that moment, like he had finally seen outside House's eyes and presence, and it was odd. It wasn't exactly a bad feeling, but the absence of any feeling at all, replaced by a moment of observation. He noticed an unnamed sensation, something about the ghost of his previous marriages, about Cameron's distant expression, Chase's undefined one, Taub being there by himself, the remains of worry in Cuddy's words. He didn't knew if it was the moment alone walking out that left people alone with their thoughts, but there was a lot in a wedding with a crushing power over people, even the cynical, unconvinced ones. Like Thirteen. He smirked when he saw the maids of honor walking side by side, laughing, occasionally hand in hand to help each other with the high heels that stuck in the grass while they were walking.

Wilson couldn't just read House, and who'd know what he'd hide, what else he wouldn't share. Still, Wilson felt he knew enough. He wondered about money, his job and their future. Under the light of that full moon, he glanced back at the dreamlike, enchanted storybook page they were leaving behind. Petals flying, the sparks that constellated the garden and the cherry trees like the stars dotted the sky. He looked back only literally, because, with House's hand in his, he would just find it funny how fate tied them up together once and a month later he was married, hopelessly in love. Describing like that, it would be just like... just like a fairytale. The most cheesy one, in what looked like a sharp prank life liked to pull in someone as skeptical as Gregory, a dangerous gift for someone as hopeful as James and another whole horizon for two people as lonely as they used to be. A horizon as in a roseish sunset for eyes used to the concrete hills.

They were behind everyone, and Wilson stopped walking. The sight House would see when he turned to him was the deep brown eyes staring knowingly, as if he was just starting to absorb what he'd been through. The breeze blowing his hair and his thumb rolling the gold ring around his own finger. The younger placed his hands in his husband's shoulders and, stepping towards him, enlaced his arms around his neck and stepped forward, touching the other's lips with his. House raised his cane, holding it by its middle, and with that he would be able to wrap his arms around the younger's waist and bring him closer, with his free hand and his forearms locked in his back. It was the deep kiss that Wilson had been craving for, an intense one - in which's end, as if nothing had happened, he started walking again, talking about how it would really be like having sex inside an MRI machine, from the space inside to the image shown.

When they stepped inside the building, to the artificial, clear lights in chandeliers, the smell of the dinner welcomed them even before the sight of the silver dishware at the sideboard. There were different colors, too, from the drapes and the tablecloths to the food once it was shown. Nevertheless, they all seemed to follow the usual hues; inside the palette of the comfortable caramel and charming tones of red. There were several different round tables, and, though it was a wide place, they were well set, adjusted to the amount of guests not to look too empty. More to the side, there were poker tables, an elegant bar covering a big part of the western wall, with all kinds of liquor bottles displayed in glass shelves, illuminated separately. Further in the hall, a Grand Piano, a stage for presentations and a music set surrounding a vacant space, under the biggest chandelier.

"I can only imagine how it would be if we had planned all of this." House said. "With your magnificent talent to decorate places and my unbelievable patience to deal with schedules and guidelines, we'd certainly end up taking everybody to eat hamburgers in a pub with plenty of beer and unknown drunk people. Now we can have wine, a whole hall, fancy drinks and decorated tables ." They walked together to their table, in a visible but somehow discreet place, from where they could see everybody and everybody could see them, if they all chose to do so. Before they could seat, other guests came to congratulate them - some people he didn't know, Wilson's guests, and Lucas, who had that absent-minded look. House wouldn't be fooled by that attitude, though. He knew the detective was way smarter than he seemed to be. When House and Wilson could finally sit down, everybody else was already placed, the music was good, and House just appreciated the scene for a while. "I like it this way, though. A pub would be too obviously funny, I guess, here we can just mess with everybody and they'll never see it coming. Maybe we can even disappear for some minutes... And if we go to the bathroom together, well, I think they're already expecting for it."

 _"_ What are you saying? Jesus, Gregory, you make us sound like we're two animals that can't control ourselves." As he said, he placed the hand in House's inner thigh, sliding up as he had already done lots of times before. That smirk he gave, as if it was already part of it, was the only thing on the sight of one's eyes able to be seen. "We can't do these things anymore, we are married and responsible and we are settling down." his hand reached House's groin.

House raised his eyebrow, feeling the ghost of the heat in his groin. "God, you're  _so_  right, we can't make love in a public bathroom, how immoral would it be? _"_ His voice sounded theatrical, on the edge of sarcastic. " _It's a good thing I have you to guide me_ in the path of righteousness, otherwise I wouldn't be able to hold this need to blow you until you were helplessly moaning." His hand ran over Wilson's thigh, pressing the flesh covered by the black fabric tightly.

Wilson gasped and shut his eyes in that moment. Looking at House again, he took his hand off of the other's crotch and grasped the wrist of the hand firmly holding him. "Yeah... I guess I..." he looked away with a crooked smile. "See, this many pictures to be taken and tuxedo trousers that not only don't hide a thing but which I want to take off of your body, this was a bad idea of mine." the heat that House's hand always produced was only mental stimulation by then, but he knew it wouldn't be so for long.

"No, hunny, it was a great idea. I'm sure Jeremy will love to have some realism in his pictures. leaning his hand on Wilson's lap as if to keep his balance." Besides, it's been so long since this morning..." He whispered huskily and smirked, before moving away from his face.

"If he doesn't have enough pornographic pictures from our window, sure." With a quick shiver and another grin, Wilson covered the back of House's hand with his, interlacing their fingers and pulling their hands together on the top of the table. "You had an interesting reaction when I said we were been photographed that day." turning to House, he narrowed his eyes. "Is that you like only the danger or do you want to be watched, slutty nurse? My partner in a new porn movie, maybe?" he laughed weakly.

House's eyes deviated from Wilson's face to their interlaced fingers, and back at his face. "What I like is to feel you trembling in my arms, babbling nonsense, unable to hold yourself back." The waiter left a silvered bucket filled with ice, containing a champagne bottle. Gregory smiled at it, and he knew Wilson would be able to read the look he gave at him afterwards.

When the waiter walked out, Wilson perceived the look. He was just staring at the silver bucket. "I know what you are thinking, crystal glasses, pff. Oh, and speaking about it... When Amanda was showing some options of their menu, I saw that just like the cheese fondue set they have, one can order it with chocolate instead." Another waiter was approaching with meals, so he kept it simple, as if he was talking about cuisine in general. "Gummy bear, I can tell you, I had  _ideas._  I suppose it's much better than maple syrup, it seems to be a tastier combination. Sure we can try both at different times and take notes. Make a comparison chart even." He said to House and smiled at the waiter politely.

"I'm sure we'll make an enormous mess. Let's just make sure to use the table, otherwise our bed sheets would be stained forever." The waiter served them quickly, looking a little disturbed like someone who refuses to have a thought and end up having it anyway. House smiled, and Wilson sighed, just to chuckle afterwards - he clearly enjoyed to see the young man embarrassed but at the same time couldn't allow himself to think so.

They let go of one another's hand to eat, talking about the food with some casual provocation, as usual. House called Wilson 'closeted pervy', to which the younger retaliated calling him a 'full-time pervy'. House teased Wilson with words, talking about blowing and grabbing and riding, and the younger teased his husband more directly, touching him from time to time. They talked about culinary and sex positions, tables and beds; until it was time for the toasts.

House opened the champagne and poured some of it in the crystal glasses, winking at Wilson. Champagne and rose petals; caramel and crimson everywhere - their particular paradise duplicated everywhere he looked. House would play the song after the toasts, and he drank the bubbly liquid playing it slowly in his mind, hearing it in the murmur of known voices.

Once more, during the toast, the feeling that things weren't fitting in the outside came to Wilson. Hearing people saying nice, but generic words about them that clearly didn't mean what they felt or thought was interesting. It was weird, Wilson felt weird. Although they all really meant well, they weren't exactly his best friends in the world, nor they appreciated House's attitude and character very much, so it all felt like no one actually knew them enough. The part of the awkwardness he knew that would come with, and he could shrug at it.

The dinner had been great, and he loved the way House looked defiant, as if he could see and dare each piece that didn't fit to the idea of the indefectible wedding that could be painted with the colors of the flowers bought. It was a bit of what the older said before, about sex, extended. It wasn't that he wanted to be watched, or that he liked to see people's reactions - was more like he couldn't care less about what they were thinking. Wilson looked forward to the feeling, but he cared a lot. His safety was when a glance of the blue of House's eyes would make him forget easily about others. He drank the champagne and smirked at the taste. He thanked the words said and smirked at their meaning.

House was to play the song then. The classic charm of the whole scene would be completed by the image of the pianist in a tuxedo, and it would be of a sharp elegance seeing House walk to there and sit by the Grand Piano. Wilson knew, though, that the sound to fill their ears was way more beautiful than the mere description of a presentation. The older felt Wilson getting a little tense from time to time, hearing the others' words of praise and felicitation, and when he noticed it, he squeezed his husband's hand harder, smiled, made fun of everyone and everything.

And the piano, he didn't care about playing, at all. It was something he enjoyed to do, and he knew Wilson loved when he did it to him. There was surely something weird in how people seemed to always overvalue someone who could play an instrument. For him, it was a hobby, something to do with the musical knowledge he had acquired long ago, something to do with whatever his mood was. When he sit on the black bench in front of the white keys, though, he breathed in deeply, unconsciously, and he wasn't there for anyone but Wilson. That song was made for him. It had nothing to do with Stacy's song, which had started to sound like some kind of requiem for that lost dream, and he couldn't just bring her there. There were much warmer brown eyes for him to look at in that place.

It had started with some playing on the keys, in one of the rare nights they didn't spend together, and it fitted. Adapting that melody to some basic harmony rules was all he needed to do and it was ready. It sounded heartfelt to him, in a discreet way. Sounded natural and real. He started to play, and it began as something sweet played on the lower notes and something strong played on the middle keys of the piano. F sharp major, crescendos and sostenutos. None of that mattered though. When he looked at Wilson, in the middle of a longer pause, the expression he would see there would be the song's only judge, and none of the elements in the song would make a difference unless he could cause that heart to beat faster.

It would be a curious look, the one House would see in Wilson's eyes if he could. First, because it was really filled with curiosity. He was wondering what had happened, and which song was the one surrounding them, burning low until consuming everything to an irreversible state. Second, because the way the amazement and the doubts were blending would make quite a peculiar eager expression in Wilson's face. He wouldn't tell differences in notes or movements. He'd dare to think, in a second, that the song was similar to the one House had played before, but in the next it was like a random orange splash in a bluish painting, like coffee to smell in between perfume fragrances, and he was sure he haven't heard such thing before. He knew it was another music entirely, but he knew the man hearing it was also somewhat a new one, and that would complete the enchantment that would only grow.

When the song stopped, House placed his hands in his thighs, looking at Wilson, and everyone clapped enthusiastically. The younger felt like hushing the applause. Not because they weren't adequate - it was more than deserved - but because he wanted to just have one more moment to process it. If for any cause House thought that song, whichever it was, suited them better, he must had a reason - but even without the knowledge or the musical sensibility, he agreed on that thought. Somehow, it was better for the occasion, for it all; it sounded easier, natural, freer even if intimate. By itself, that whole consideration had the most foolish smile and, from time to time, a questioning frown that he tried to hide. He got up when House did so, and walked to him, wordless, still trying to figure out what he actually wanted to ask.

A soft jazz song started to play, just like it was while they were eating. House downed the keyboard cover and leaned on it, resting his hands over the black surface, looking at Wilson as he walked in his direction. He had a pleased smile directed at his husband, visibly proud with himself for it all to have worked as planned. Wilson stopped in front of him and he only smiled wider, like a child who had just surprised the elders with a particularly smart deed. He didn't move to reach for Wilson's body or face, to bring him closer or even randomly touch him, waiting for the other to react leaning on the piano with an insufferable smirk of victory that grew with each second of the other's silence. "I hope you didn't mind that I changed the song, honey bee."

Some of the guests wanted to approach or to say something about the song, but they wouldn't dare to break the intense gaze - it seemed to happen so often, like they didn't need words to make a whole conversation. Under House's scrutinizing look, Wilson smirked, frowning again. "You surely got me by surprise, but this..." He'd ask House to play it once more, so he could think it through, and a thousand times again so he'd memorize every note he didn't have a name for. Stepping faintly forward, he got even closer to his husband. "Which song is..." He seemed to give up on the question. "Why the change?"

"I didn't like that song much." House shrugged, like saying something irrelevant. "Besides, the deal was that I made a song for you, not recycle something for the sake of convenience. Something old, something new." He recited, rolling his eyes unconsciously at the sugary commonplaceness of that verse. "A brand new song for a brand new... God, I can't believe I'm saying it. A brand new "stuff"." He sighed impatiently, and chuckled afterwards. "Isn't it right, husband? I guess it's more of a wedding song than a proposal song, since you've only heard it now, but I hope it still counts."

"Does it mean, cheesecake..." Wilson whispered in between jazz notes, which also came too soon, when he was still internalizing the music the older played. He stepped forward once more, placing his hands in House's waist. "...that you had composed a song for us?" He said it in a playful tone, like it was easier this way. As if it was too hard to believe, too beautiful to cope, and, since Gregory wasn't making a big deal out of it, he shouldn't, and wouldn't, either. But the shine in the brown eyes would tell anything House wanted to know - things about the meaning and about what he had thought about it. And held he the other's wrist and take the pulse, or even with his chest against his, the older would know that he had indeed made that pulse race faster.

"I wouldn't compose a song for me, I'm not that creep." Wilson frowned and smiled at the same time, as if not believing in what he was understanding from his husband's words. House smiled and pressed his lips against Wilson's briefly, and he wouldn't speak clearer or explain anything. He felt it wasn't needed, when everything in him screamed those unspoken words. He avoided to look away from Wilson, not that he was extremely eager to do so. He was enjoying their 'party' - it sounded weird to call it a party when everybody was just staring at them - but he knew soon he would start to get annoyed. Their guests could as well be part of the scenery when all he wanted right then was to be alone with Wilson. They'd wait for everybody to get really drunk before disappearing from view, to their room, to finally share more of themselves than smiles and intense gazes, as they had planned. Still House couldn't help thinking about how it would be a lot more fun and enjoyable to forget about that and just convince Wilson to run away with him. Leaning his forehead on his husband's, he smirked, as a song started to play. It wasn't that bad to be there, not at all. "Shall we dance, sweetie?"

"Sure." Calmly, he stepped back and held House's hand, slowly taking with him a few steps away from the piano, closer to under the biggest chandelier. When he looked at House's eyes again, it was when the trumpet started; Louis Armstrong's trace, bringing the melody of Edith Piaf's French song to the jazz, and adapting the lyrics to his unmistakable voice. It was only instrumental yet, though, when he placed one hand in House's waist and held the other beside their bodies, arms bent. His fingers caressed House's when they adjusted the hand in hand to a dance, and they breathed closely the same air for a couple of seconds. Everything was extremely soft, in an intimacy that would have the known safety of a long-lasting relationship, such as its warmth; at the same time, the careful, detailed movements, the delicate unsaid questions of a first touch. He placed his head beside House's and breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the other's perfume, what pressed his chest against House's. Cheek to cheek, the other would even feel his smile beside his face, and they started, just the smallest steps to the sides. Not with a reason in particular, but because of the combination of facts - that House invited him, that such a slow song barely needed guidance, the elder's injured leg, and pure pleasure to let himself freely go with the other's will - he let House guide.

"With his hand on Wilson's waist, their postures mirroring one another, they danced together; not only their first dance as a married couple, but their very first dance - it amazed House how many first times they still had ahead of them. Occasions they could picture, occasions they wouldn't see coming. He breathed in the smell of his husband's skin, a mixture of the scent that belonged only to Wilson and his aftershave, and exhaled the air slowly through slightly parted lips. One step to the left, one step to the right - this one lasting a little longer, as his body bended faintly to the side, in an almost unnoticeable way. The guests observed them with restrained smiles. Even the ones who knew House better, who had already dismissed that first impression of a mad and bitter genius, felt that little spark of disbelief touching their thoughts and impressions. House took a small breath and sang along as Armstrong's voice started to vibrate in the air around them. "Hold me close and hold me fast, the magic spell you cast, this is _la vie en rose."_

The careful pronunciation of the verse House's voice sang, hushing in this deep voice, would make Wilson notice each purring within the whisper beside his ear, such as hear the vowels marked by his accent. He shivered, then, and House noticed. Due to it, the last words there, the French ones, were marked by a smile, perhaps a grin, that he couldn't see, but listen in the way the verse ended. Closing his eyes softly during the words and breathing in deeply, he felt carried along, and he let his voice be shown barely audible. "When you kiss me, Heaven sighs." he was the one who sighed the verse, still closed-eyed. "And though I close my eyes, I see  _la vie en rose_."

He hummed while Wilson sang, quietly. House liked to listen while he sang, unconsciously, generally a song they had just heard, as if to make that moment last a little bit. It was almost a crime to sing jazz with British accent instead of the original American one; but he couldn't care less. He licked his lips and breathed out the next stanza. "When you press me to your heart, I'm in a world apart, a world where roses bloom." And their chests felt almost close enough to one another. The hand on Wilson's waist got a little firmer, and he closed his own eyes for a second, just enjoying it all mindlessly.

It seemed they were even slower and even closer with every second of the music, unaware of anything or anyone else. "And when you speak, Angels sing from above." He opened his eyes and touched his nose in House's ear. "Every day words seem to turn into love songs." He took a breath and, when he pressed his lips in the other's neck, tenderly, it was another verse of the song already vibrating outside, echoing through the hall.

There could be as well no music at all, no people surrounding them; and, with his eyes closed, House could swear there was anything but what he could feel - like Wilson's touch and voice. "Give your heart and soul to me..." He started, but the soft kiss made him smile in the middle of the stanza, and the last part of the song went out distorted through his lips twisted with delight. "...and life will always be  _la vie en rose."_ He moved his head backwards to be able to face Wilson, and kissed him lightly. The time they spent together was more than rose. It had the sureness of the strong and darker colours, like that shade of crimson everywhere they looked, and the tenderness of those light and warm tones of golden and pearl-like white. Deep brown like Wilson's eyes and greyish blue like House's. Diluted colours or pure pigment - they were made of all the possible combinations in a painter's palette, and all the impossible ones.

Leaning his forehead in House's, wondering about everything and nothing between rose and blue, between roses and the sky. So, he wasn't thinking about anything, he was just feeling the warmth, smelling the scents and hearing his breath as the song ended. He would just smile easily, and stepping out of the tight embrace, it was hard to say what he was about to. "Let's go back there. Give our guests a bit of attention and some new wave songs they can sing along with, some photos and that's it. There's honeymoon waiting for us really soon." He smirked. It even crushed his chest how much he wanted to be closer to House, how he wanted just to say a bit more and underline every word in that song. How he wanted to be alone with him, no matter where, and doing whatsoever. But his smile was then resigned, since he knew he wouldn't just run away from a party all of a sudden, leaving everyone behind.

House sighed and rolled his eyes. "They have food, music, drinks, they don't need us, cherry pie." Wilson's expression didn't change, though; he only raised his left eyebrow a little, like saying 'Did you really think it would work?'. House held Wilson's hand with another sigh, and walked closer to the piano to get his cane.

Amanda came right away to praise him for the song. "You both, I can't even deal with the way you look together. Jeremy is freaking out with the hundreds of pictures he took, I think he only saw you through the camera lens tonight." She laughed, and the husbands joined her. Then Thirteen came closer, holding two Martinis, one of which she handed to Amanda, who thanked her with a large smile. House stared into Wilson's eyes, and they both had their lips twisted in a smirk. Thirteen took a sip of her drink.

"I didn't know you both would have a dance. As a maid of honor I'm quite disappointed I haven't been asked for a dance too."

"Well, you could ask Amanda for a dance." House said.

Amanda looked down, as if softly embarrassed.

"Would you join us?" Thirteen stared at House.

"I'm afraid we won't. Is that right, blueberry?" He said, looking at Wilson. "I mean, if you want to..."

"I don't know, I thought people would be bored with too much slow music, but..." Wilson squeezed House's hand, pulling his arm softly. The look when he narrowed in his eye was of  _Don't force it_ , but then he just smiled at the maids of honor. "Greg has a point. Night is yours, too, you don't need us, do as you please." He looked at House. "Com'ere, cherry pie, would you? There's the Margaritas they make here I really want to try."

"Sure." House smiled almost naively, as if he didn't know what he had just done. "Ladies, enjoy your night." He bowed his head lightly, and started to walk away from them, half-dragging Wilson with him until the other moved too. When they got to the bar, House asked for Wilson's margarita and a brandy dose for himself. While the bartender prepared their drinks, House leant his elbow over the counter, playing mindlessly with Wilson's fingers.

Soon Wilson asked the bartender to put on some extra alcohol in the drinks and the waiter to put on other songs to play. It could be less than one hour since they were by the bar, the music changed and all the conversation of everyone was easing, becoming more and more entertained. When Wilson talked to someone, he changed the glass in the other's hand for another fuller, as if he was being merely attentive. House did the same even without talking to anyone, and people barely noticed. In the meanwhile, they had a bit of laughter - it wasn't wonderful, but it wasn't a strive either to remain there.

But it soon came to a moment in which he was just sitting with a blank look, trying to grab to the edges of the beautiful scenes he was in before, so many his mind couldn't even organize yet. In between the smiles and the faces, at that moment Wilson was just missing it all - he was also missing the point in why they were still there in the first place. House was sit by his side in the tall benches, caressing his fingers, like he delineated with his fingertips the gold ring, and it felt so extraordinary that he was still there. Wilson didn't knew if it was because he asked, or because he wouldn't pay for a wedding for it not to express exactly what he wanted to - its reliable reality, step by step, from the feeling to its whole structure - to everyone be able to testify it if needed. By far, though, he saw House wasn't even trying to interact, lost mostly in the touch and in humming the song that was on. In a point, within laughter that he again wasn't sharing or even understanding the motive, he turned to House and whispered.

"I know that they are talking, but I just can't hear two sentences without my mind drifting off to our honeymoon. It gets harder and harder to convince myself about the reasons on why the hell I am just imagining it."

House grinned, still wearing a somewhat lost look, caressing his husband's fingers. "By now, they won't even notice if we get away from here."

His eyes deviated to Wilson's face, and some might say he didn't show any reaction besides that mild smile that defied any opinion they had about him. But it took some more attention, less drunkenness and a deep knowledge of how Gregory House behaved, each particularity and every way in which he differed from the expected to notice what was going on behind those blue eyes. The way he looked calm and placid in his discreet happiness, feeling comfortable in Wilson's presence. The way he touched his husband's skin softly, languidly - erotically, even. The way he parted his lips slightly for no obvious reason just to chuckle afterwards at himself, and steal kisses from Wilson, that grew more intense and less brief as time went by.

He observed as James talked to everyone, apparently paying attention, but looking away to his own glass or House more and more frequently. It seemed strange to him that no one seemed to notice how deep and interesting Wilson could be, with layers and layers of unknown features and secrets he kept to himself. Maybe he saw that because he wasn't interested in what Wilson had done, in how he behaved everyday, but  _why_. Why he seemed to be unable to turn away from responsibility; why he said all those white lies to everybody including himself. Why he thought they were necessary. He tried to picture those people's reactions if he told them about his husband being part of a porn movie, or about the occasion in which he stayed a whole night in jail for throwing a bottle of liquor into a pub's mirror. One had to be really close to notice that little spark of admiration - even adoration - in House's eyes directed at that apparently plain man beside him. He shifted in his seat until he was facing Wilson, and came closer to his face, with his lips beside his husband's ears. "Let's go upstairs, shall we? It's time we got some time for ourselves,  _husband_." He smirked and drew his head backwards, to stare into the brown eyes as if challenging him to say 'no' with his most suggestive look.

Wilson smirked. His whole self was screaming for House to convince him, something to tell him it was ok to just leave the party, because, come on, of course it was, it was their night, wasn't it? His reason would always remind him that he was there with a responsibility to fulfill, but it was easy to believe he should run away when he was holding House's hand. Wilson's amazement wasn't about experiencing the bitter man's sweetness or being part of the artist's inspiration and the exception for the sharp, cynical diagnostician's mind. Nor about listening to that frequently sarcastic voice now singing whispered romantic jazz lyrics in front of his mouth, or even feeling the overwhelming gentleness in the other's touches and kiss, because now Wilson knew better. He knew that maybe it wasn't about changing, but about unveiling, about looking twice and harder, attentively.

"Should we announce our leave or just sneak out? And don't say anything if it's to clarify to everyone that we have a room waiting for us and we'd rather be shagging instead of wasting time with them."

"What?" House raised his voice, loud and clear. "I can't hear you, have you just said you'd rather be shagging in the room instead of wasting time with them? " He smirked at Wilson. His hand let go of Wilson's hand to rest over his husband's thigh, caressing it lightly over the fabric, moving it a little upwards with each time. " Come on, James. They're kind of expecting for it already." He chuckled lowly. "It's not like we are going upstairs to watch TV and sleep, we've got a good reason. A great reason." His voice became then a low whisper as he moved closer. "Let's leave the party for them to enjoy, while we have some fun by ourselves."

"I have agreed already, let's go." His voice was slightly annoyed, but he wasn't exactly bothered - he was used to it. His shame lasted a moment, but taking from the tales they had told out loud, inside the drugstore or inside the taxi, that one was actually really soft. He got up, and a smirk of surrender showed that he wasn't angry at him, just a couple of seconds later. He waited for the other to do the same, and together they would walk out of the noise, leaving the party behind. Still walking, it felt sad in Wilson's chest for one heartbeat before it felt great again, even greater. The thing was, the wedding was over. They were husbands. What they were supposed to do, from the beginning, ended right then, when they stepped out of the hall not to come back.

Silently, only hearing the music that was on, Wilson made a quick retrospective of what led them there, and again wondered how it could have been if they had never kissed, if they had never dared. And he wondered, too, if they wouldn't just find out eventually, one way or another, given the chance, that he and his boss were that much of an awesome couple, that much able to make each other laugh, smile and come like no one else before. Their hands were together again, and Wilson looked down to them, smiling. A part of the meaning of their always entwined fingers was easy - they liked it, period. In those chilly days, palms didn't get sweaty, just delightfully warm, and it was good to feel the textures and the lines, to silently communicate in touches followed by exchanging of looks. But the other half of it was still in the air - Wilson didn't know whether it was House who kept on holding his hand, to show him and everyone he was there, or whether it was him who always needed to make sure House would do so.


	24. Bedroom Hymns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not here looking for absolution  
> Because I found myself an old solution  
> This is his body  
> This is his love
> 
> Florence and The Machine, "Bedroom Hymns"

Despite the need to just get to their room as soon as possible, they walked calmly, hand in hand, like an "old boring couple", as House had said once, in one of the rare nights they just watched a movie and slept, without any attempt to arouse each other. This time though, they burned slowly, the whole night. They were merely waiting.

The concept of belonging to someone else didn't make much sense for House. The rings on their fingers were tiny pieces of gold, barely meaningful. At the same time, it all gave him a sense of safety. Steadiness. It was absurd; but since the very beginning they were living the absurd. So he just held Wilson's hands tighter as they left the venue, just to see their maids of honour laughing quietly by themselves, near a window in the end of the corridor. The look Wilson gave him wasn't needed - he didn't feel like spoiling it. The husbands went ahead as if they hadn't seen anything, quietly, until they reached the elevator.

The mirror reflected them - two men in love with each other, in levels they wouldn't believe possible. House admired the way they matched with their suits. How they looked cool, and how great they looked together. Wilson's hair wasn't as tidy as it was when their eyes met in between roses and cherry blossoms, in front of the Justice of the Peace; but he looked just as stunning. Even more. House touched his husband's face with his fingers, and all of their words - 'I chose you, and I will always choose you' - kept echoing in his mind the whole night. They had already said all of that; made all of those promises silently, in the low light of rooms and in broad daylight, even without acknowledging so. He pressed his lips to Wilson's, and it wasn't delicate or raw, but that kiss was just like the one they shared right after they had been pronounced as a married couple. It could surely grow with their need, and it surely would.

The elevator's door opened and he broke the kiss, softly, smirking as they walked to their room. One turning of keys and they were alone once again, welcomed by the crimson and caramel room and the moonlight shining through their window.

Wilson felt like it had been weeks since he last left that room; and lives since he first entered an hotel room with Gregory. And it made him remember vaguely something he had said in that occasion. When House was turning the keys to lock the room, he did what he had done in that night - in steady movements, he turned the other to face him and pressed their bodies together, forcing the other against the door.

"Finally, my husband." He whispered the words the best he could remember. "Inside four walls and completely by ourselves." Sliding his hands down House's arms, it was like he was carefully spreading fuel before daring to lit the fire. He held House's cane in his hand, placing it in the wall beside. When he raised his eyes again, he narrowed his eyes, smirking slowly.

Instead of dripping wet, trembling and excited bodies in leather jackets, two men in low heat desire and well-cut tuxedos. Instead of the insecure eagerness of the first time, the relentless safety of knowledge. He let one more moment of anticipation grow. Because he was relishing hearing their breaths, feeling them hot against their skins, and only that, in the silence. He slid his hand up to the sides of House's body, the ribcage, feeling it expand in each inspiration. Chest against chest, all on their own and all to each other, he could feel and distinguish their hearts beating together, faster.

House grinned at the reminder, and licked his lips, looking into Wilson's eyes, too close for him to see anything but the blurred face of his lover. His own hands found their way to the younger's waist, under the tuxedo coat, and his lips twisted in a wider smirk as he pictured what was about to happen to all of those fancy clothes. "The last time you said that I ended up being fucked hard in the shower. Remember that, James?" He whispered his husband's name, like a brief prayer. Such a common name. He couldn't care less about its meaning or origin, though. He couldn't care less about its meaning or origin, though. For him, that name would always refer to 'his' James, his friend, his lover, his husband. In his mind, it all sounded too possessive, but thinking otherwise could turn out to be unbearable. In that room it seemed they could call everything by its name - even the feelings, even the fears - and at the same time just go on with their never-ending dance of grabbing, touching, kissing and breathing loudly over warm skin, when little to no words would leave their mouths consciously.

Unbuttoning the jacket, Wilson got even closer with his face, to a point which it would be useless trying to see a thing. "There isn't a moment I forget, actually." Then he slid his hands inside it, against the shirt's fabric up to the shoulders. "And what about now, Gregory? Would you like me to do this again this time, or should we , you know, put a Palestinian movie on?" He chuckled, playfully, but his hands pushed House against the door again, and he pressed his body against the other, locking House's left leg between his." Maybe we can find out in the meanwhile. We can do everything we want, anything at all." he whispered while letting his lips rub in the other's, their noses side by side. The tip of his tongue touched House's downer lip before he caught it between his - and, in the next movement, they were kissing.

Being pressed against the door like that caused House's heart to beat faster and his hands to move more eagerly, holding Wilson's neck to pull him and deepen the kiss; pulling his husband's hips against his own fiercely. With time they had learned to go slow, not touching randomly fast just to find the right points by accident but already knowing where they were and how much force to apply. No touch was in vain, and the lips weren't desperate as much as they were eager to just relish that loved contact, longed and craved for. It took longer for them to gasp for air, and more than kissing, they were breathing together. House's hands then untied the black bow tie around the collar of the white shirt, with a small smile in his lips - in between so many things they were already used to, there were those little novelties, visible or not.

Wilson loosened the upper button of his own shirt, now that he was without the tie, and kissed House again. The touch of his lips by itself was gentle, but filled with electrified intensity that could be felt - then the mouth slithered to House's cheek and jaw, a feathery brush along with hot breath caressing House's skin, to keep it in the edge of shivering while he untied the bow-tie around the neck, also unbuttoning the neck button afterwards.

Everything was in that unhurried movement until his hands let the small piece of dark fabric drop to the floor and snatched the other's waist to bring him suddenly against his hips. Then the touch of his mouth in House's neck wasn't just his lips gliding, but a full kiss, for his tongue to taste and his teeth to brush. Still in the beginning of that kiss, Wilson's hands forged up again to the other's chest and shoulders to take the black jacket off of his body.

House could laugh at the progressively urgent touches, not for finding it funny, but in pure delight. More than pressure or heat, he could feel desire in every fingertip, every touch of lips over his skin. His dinner jacket fell on the floor, and he bit his lower lip faintly when Wilson captured his ear in between his lips, letting out a loud breath. The fabric of their pants was too thin, and it only made him more eager to get rid of those clothes.

He loved that foreplay of theirs, though. Teasing, taking to the edge, then slowing down, gentle caresses. The looks, the sounds, the heat being sent right to his groin and having to catch his breath from time to time. He slid his hands over Wilson's chest, feeling the fabric of the white shirt, and started unbuttoning it, stopping halfway. His hands then slid until he was massaging James' scalp, having brown hair in between his fingers, and he bent his head to nuzzle right under his husband's jaw, tasting the skin there before catching it in between his lips, chuckling to himself at the thought of leaving that mark right there - and some others everywhere.

"James... Take off your clothes." He whispered; his breath warm against his lover's ear; his voice husky and maybe a little demanding. "...Will you?"

Wilson gave a weird smirk, pulling his head back to look at House's eyes with a frown that was more of questioning than anything else. He chuckled, a bit awkwardly, but his smirk turned into a grin as he lowered his eyes and bit his downer lip. He took a deep breath, frowning again, as if considering something, and shrugged. "Fine." He clung his fingers to House's belt. "Come here, then." He started walking backwards, slowly, and, while they shared those grins and gazes, they also silently talked things words wouldn't exactly express in the steps they had until reaching the bed, "Sit down." he said, in the same demanding tone that House had.

House smirked at Wilson's tone. He didn't mean to turn it all to some dramatic performance, but he was already enjoying it too much to clarify it. "As you wish." He sit on the border of the bed, resting his hands over the mattress, behind his back, staring hardly at Wilson; his gaze running over him from the lips to the half-hidden chest, but always coming back to the eyes, as if checking. His attention, though, was everywhere.

While House was sitting down, he took off his shoes with his feet, and the socks before they get to look at each other's eyes again. He could see the look in House's eyes expecting for something he really had no idea what. "But I'm afraid I won't actually put on a show for daddy." He walked until he was standing in front of House, in between his legs, and knelt in the floor. Still smirking, he slid his hands in House's thighs carefully. "Sorry, I might have forgotten to bring my college girl clothes and to download "You can leave your hat on"."

"Oh, no. This is bad." His voice sounded theatrically disappointed, and he shook his head as if grieving for it. But his lips were twisted in a wide amused grin, and soon after that he was looking at Wilson's eyes again. "Such a pity. I was so eager to get a glimpse of my gorgeous naked husband before we got too close for any of that." He shifted his weight to the side and reached for Wilson's hair, pushing it away from his face, running the fingertips over his face afterwards./ So it seems you have other ideas for us tonight.

"Actually, I said I can't put on a show. I didn't say I won't take my clothes off for you, though." He held House's wrist, as his hand touched his face, and placed it on the other's lap." And you know the rules. You can look, not touch. "He looked down a bit shyly for a moment, when his fingers started unbuttoning his shirt, but soon he stared at House's eyes again, from under his eyebrows, grinning.

House rolled his eyes, and drew his hand back to its initial position, over the mattress. He moved his torso forward, though, to see Wilson entirely as the younger unbuttoned his shirt. Button by button, more skin was exposed - but Wilson's smile was teasing by itself. House watched, concentrated in what his husband would do, and how he would do it.

It might take a lot of confidence to be that sure of himself to think the sight of your body could make someone aroused. Wilson had never felt that way. He was far from having a model-like body, far from being a stripper, but he finished opening the shirt knowing that it wasn't exactly what mattered, and that was the greatest part.

He didn't own a defined tanned body - he had milk white skin with freckles that House used to kiss in what he had noticed to be a pattern. After he finished opening the shirt, he loosened one suspender, then the other, letting them fall from his shoulders. What he owned there was that look from under his dark eyebrows that told House how much he could do to him, with him. A doctor doesn't care about nudity. Any person can see the hottest body a click away, a magazine away, or live, in an actual strip club. But it was him who House was looking with that much desire, and like that Wilson could easily believe he was his first and best choice. The younger approached his face to the other's torso and skimmed his nose along the line of the buttons in House's shirt, until biting his chest weakly, still through the fabric, hearing the heavy breath it caused on the older.

That was the thing - he was sure he was completely able to turn House on, and that was enough confidence for him, to even put on a show if needed, because they were past away unthinkable, way past 'too much'. But it wasn't any performance. It was just what he wanted to do. He got up, still with the open shirt on, and knelt on the mattress by both sides of House's body. Besides being on his lap, he kept on leaning on his own knees, House's face aligned with his chest while he ran his fingers in his husband's hair, looking deep inside his darkened eyes.

The pleasure House took from that was something he couldn't quite explain. He loved to undress Wilson, to rip the clothes off of him (He tried to keep it just for mental image, since the occasion in which he really ripped one of Wilson's shirts. How could he know the buttons were so firmly attached to the fabric?) But to watch as Wilson undressed himself, or even how he dressed up; it all had some appeal to him since the beginning. Fingers carefully unbuttoning, suspenders being pushed a little upwards before falling on the sides of Wilson's hips, the shirt opened exposing the skin of his chest delineating the ribcage and the muscles of his torso.

Wilson's hands were beautiful, and his body was beautiful, and he was beautiful - House couldn't pick a single characteristic to justify his lust, as it should be. His husband's face was illuminated by the poor lighting and it seemed to be lit from inside out in fact - the eyes were glued to his own, and he could notice Wilson breathing slowly through his mouth, as if to keep himself calm and steady. He reached out for Wilson's waist, tracing the line of his rib with his fingertip, moving just a little forward to touch his lips on the warm skin.

He held House's wrists, pushing his arms again off of him. Wilson wanted so much that he touched it. That he grabbed his waist and kissed his chest, he craved to feel his fingers, his tongue, his lips and his teeth - but he surely would. They would, to exhaustion, just like they used to do once they had started. They'd taste it all, they'd grasp it, they'd push it and pull it, and there it wouldn't be different.

"Hey, I said no touching." Wilson made a reproachful voice, though in a playful tone. He slid his hands in House's arms to his shoulders, pushing him weakly to keep him from kiss his skin. "This way you're gonna have to tip me higher." He laughed weakly, easily, while unbuttoning the cuffs of his own shirt, to take it off of his body afterwards. Letting it fall on the floor behind, he placed his hands on House's chest, his fingers quite precisely how the older liked it, without wasting a movement.

With their bodies that close, it was nearly impossible not to feel the need to touch. He wanted to run his hands over Wilson's chest, to hold his shoulders, to rub his own aroused body against him. The party, the guests, the world behind those walls was forgotten, left to its own spinning while their eyes concentrated in every change in each other. It was easy to lose control there, and the thin line between wanting to let Wilson to touch him that way and wanting to roll over him on the mattress would surely break sooner or later.

His breath was warm and steady over Wilson's chest, not having yet that erratic rhythm that he was sure it would have once they were done with foreplay, done with waiting for the other to be madly aroused. His hands were firm this time, and he held Wilson's wrists like the other had done to him, staring into his eyes. His hands ran over soft skin until resting them on his lover's nape, pulling his head down for him to kiss his husband's lips.

Wilson was unable of keeping the controled posture when his lips were on House's, and it felt like moving tonnes trying to separate their mouths. So he enjoyed the kiss, skimming his fingertips in like he enjoyed something dangerous, like he was closing his eyes not to a touch of his husband's lips, but to a car he was speeding in a highway. Because surrendering to House's touches was dead end for him; he'd lose control of everything. He let House's hands to be exactly where they were, and he just break the kiss when they seemed willing to move.

"You're just unruly." He said, what came out with a matter-of-fact tone. He leaned in House's shoulder to get off of the bed and stand in front of him. After he opened the button of his trousers and lowered the zipper, the pants slid down his legs easily, and he would just need to step off of them. He remained still for a second, and the weight of House's eyes upon him made him look down and scratch his nape. The delicate lines made of shadows along his muscles, the white skin contrasting with the navy blue underwear, that looked black under the dim lights of the moon and the one lamp in the corner of the bedroom, which was still on. It was easy to see his arousal; he was not completely hard yet, but it tightened the underwear, slightly forcing the elastic bands. When he approached once more, he leaned on House's shoulders and pushed him, softly but strongly, so the older would lean on his forearms on the mattress, behind. In the meanwhile, Wilson knelt again on the bed - the same way, astride, but a bit further and with his legs open wider, for him to sit; not on House's thighs, but on his hips, exactly as if riding him. And before any other reaction House could have, he went back and forth with his body to cause the friction he wanted House to feel.

There it was, the first instinct - to touch, to feel the lines in Wilson's body, to follow those lines that ended up on the groin with his fingers - and the instinct to see and memorize each detail, coming right after. He couldn't have both. He wasn't patient enough to just watch, and he wanted everything. Wilson pushed him to the bed, and House parted his lips slightly and then wider when their hips rubbed against each other. He was there, fully clothed under his half-naked husband, and he wasn't even picturing anything - he didn't have to. He had James right there, at hand's reach.

He licked his lips and held Wilson's waist, grabbing the skin and the muscles underneath it. His voice left his lips then, low and deep, as he stared hard into his lover's eyes. "Come down here and kiss me, James. I know you want it just as much as I do." It wasn't a desperate plead or a demanding order; he just needed it. Right then, right there. Grinning, he added. "My sweet, sweet husband."

"I really want it." Sliding his hands up House's chest, he whispered. "God, I do." He inched towards House's lips, leaning his hands on the mattress; but when the other moved to correspond, he stopped, with his mouth opened, only breathing against his skin. He just teased around, without letting the kiss happen, but when before House moved again, he got off of his body. This time, he didn't get up, but knelt beside him. His fingers went to his underwear, and he let his index fingers run under the waistband before lowering it to his thighs. Sitting down, he slid it off his legs and, as soon as the piece of fabric was in his hands, he threw it aside and laid down. "Come here, you." One of his hands just rest beside his head, his arm bent, and the other he slid down his abdomen to his groin, touching himself softly as a caress, his face turned to the side making his hair fall delicately in his forehead and his hair.

His whole body, expanded and contracted in a deep breath he took through his mouth. Moistening his lips, they remained like that, parted, as he gazed at House and smirked openly. House gave him a half-grin, lustful, amused, tempted. He turned on his side too, and for a brief moment they were just there, facing each other like in a painting, as if contrasting the beauty of bare skin and fancy clothes. He caressed the side of Wilson's face and and held his chin, coming closer to kiss him.

His hand went downwards the naked body until covering Wilson's hard-on, moving with him - he smirked over his husband's lips, before rolling on top of him, letting go of his lips in the meanwhile. Holding his lover's hips, he stared at those parted lips, before lowering his head swiftly and kissing him again deeply. He moved his hips against Wilson's, back and forth, like a thrust, and their kiss was even interrupted as they gasped for air - House not as much as Wilson, whose sensitive skin was exposed. He chuckled and let go of his husband's hips, to lean his hands on the mattress under him. "Quite a show, firecracker." He lifted his body to move downwards Wilson's torso, to place open-mouthed kisses on his collarbones. "You should make yourself comfortable, James." His tongue then was touching Wilson's left nipple, while one of his hands slid over his torso, pressing the warm flesh beneath it. When he looked over to his lover's face, he grinned and lift his head, licking his lips. "What I'm about to do will take some time."

"I could stay here a whole year or so." He took the hair off of his face and ran the fingers down his own neck and chest until it was House's hair they met. The muscles contracted at every touch, sensitive, and his grin was a satisfied, pleased to a point he couldn't help it. He wanted House's body as bare as his, them grinding together, but it was the same logic he had before; he had time for everything, and he would have everything. He only couldn't knew, though, until when the word logic would fit in his mind before it was too soaked up with desire to be reasonable.

House's lips reached Wilson's hips, and he kissed softly the skin of his lower abdomen, near the hipbones. He loved to feel James' body reacting to him, contracting muscles, shivering helplessly. His hands caressed the skin of Wilson's chest, and he could feel the pulsation under his lips getting faster, stronger. He lifted his head minimally, to see his husband's face and make sure he had all of his attention. It was his own show, performed for Wilson, on Wilson, and the way it sounded like pulp pornography didn't take any of its allure.

He breathed over his husband's hard-on, as if by accident, before touching it with his tongue, leaving a long strip of mild wetness on all of its extent. He made his movements agonizingly slow when he reached the tip, where the foreskin should be. He wondered, not for the first time, whether the absence of it would cause Wilson to be more or less sensitive than him, and how much, but it was just an unimportant question in between a million thoughts - whatever the answer, he had a real-time result, something he could see happening, making it happen. He took his tongue off of it, and drew straight lines over Wilson's torso with one of his hands, until he had it over the other's thigh. He lowered them to touch his lover's bollocks and perineum, teasingly, and this time he took half of the erection in his mouth, again in a slow move, just to let go of it seconds later - the grin on his face was of one who knew what he was doing, and knew he was able to take his husband to the edge and back; to the edge and beyond.

By then, Wilson already knew that whatever House does, willingly and eagerly, he tends to excellence. It was like he knew, even medically speaking, the different sensibilities from different parts of his body, and sexually he was trying them daringly. That curiosity of his, applying different sensations, in the hues of possibility of strength and frequency between pressing to sucking, with his mouth or his hand, changing the touch and the texture to see what happens. It wasn't any of a mystery, though - what would happen was clear: Wilson would start to pant and to hold his breath, eventually suddenly twitch in the bed or moan without restrain, all reflex responses. He'd close his eyes and when he opened them his irises would be black, his pupils so dilated every hint of light would blind him.

It happened there; his back waved and he bent his legs. He closed his eyes as an aroused man and he opened them as a possessed one. "Greg..." He hummed, hissing something alike a yes afterwards. Holding the sheets and inspiring deeply and closing his eyes again, he let himself feel the meticulous touch. He feared and hoped that House would keep him like that, in slow flame until everything is burned black - black like his irises. Aware of that, he relaxed his fingers and let go of the fabric. Easy, James, he thought, closing his eyes again, he'll do it, just enjoy. Don't start desperating, don't beg in a couple of minutes or fuck his mouth like you two are in a hurry. The words in his mind were clear, but sounded like someone older or wiser giving pointless orders to a reckless, explosive teenager. Just enjoy.

House eventually pushed Wilson's hips to the mattress, to keep him from moving - not that it was a problem for him, but he wanted it all to happen in his time, according to his will; like the younger had done with his clothes, keeping House from touching him and teasing slowly. He couldn't help thinking how alike fire and water they were, burning up and cooling down each other at times, until there wasn't any possibility of heat exchange and they were on the same temperature.

In the next moment, he had all of Wilson inside his mouth, on his pharynx, down his throat - and he wouldn't just think randomly. He knew how Wilson loved deepthroat, and he liked to be able to do it so well the other would just let go of every control he could still have. He swirled his tongue around the erection when he once again moved his head up, but this time he didn't let go of it so soon; after inspiring deeply through his nose, he lowered his head again, closing his eyes as his own reflex arc. Each time he went up, he opened them a bit, to see Wilson's expression, to see his face while he moaned or mouthed nonsense obscenities. He particularly enjoyed when his lover hissed the words, like he couldn't talk and couldn't help talking at the same time, and every time he moved or spoke, the electrical stimuli down his spine seemed to grow stronger, sending heat right to his groin, making his own blood pulse faster.

Wilson's blood was pumping really fast, and he could feel the violence of its flow against his lips. He started then to slow down, less and less deep, until he was just panting softly over Wilson's hard-on, seconds before he straightened his position to take off his pants and underwear. Looking into Wilson's eyes, he unbuttoned his shirt.

Staring at the ceiling, Wilson breathed in and out in low whining, fast, desperately. It was like there was light there to blind him. When House sit on the bed to take off his pants, he remained there, his chest up and down violently. His thoughts would now be "wha- what was it, how did he-" and it was it. Surely he always felt, over and over again, that the pleasure he was feeling he had never felt before and that this time - this time for sure - he'd just collapse. He always felt it. But this one was... damn, it was fucking inspired. Greg had done alike when deepthroating before, but to swallow him entirely that way, Wilson even thought he was hallucinating with his imagination sinking inside an impossible porn plot. But surreal for them was only the natural course of things when they were so in sync, so connected; so safe it was surreal. Just surreal.

He leaned on his forearms and the expression in his face was dazed, his parted mouth, his stunned look, and the paralyzed him suddenly vanished, and the pounding rushing blood fast throughout his body carried an overdosing shot of adrenalin. House was sitting on the bed, giving him his back, readily unbuttoning his shirt. In the following second, Wilson was kneeling on the bed and, holding House's face so he'd look to the side, Wilson fitted himself behind his back and kissed him, taking his wet, reddish lips with his with yearning. His hands then grabbed the collar of his shirt, again and again, like there wasn't anywhere good enough to cling to, like he was never holding those arms or that chest enough and bringing House closer eagerly enough, like he was never close enough. When his hips grinded against the other's back, his mouth opened automatically, interrupting the already clumsy kiss to a loud moan that went out still with their lips together.

House hurried himself to get rid of the clothing at once, throwing it somewhere, and lifted his legs to the bed as quickly as he could. The sound came from Wilson's lips to his own, and it was like fire reaching fuel - he turned to face Wilson and leaned his hands on his lover's shoulders, pushing him to the mattress, falling over him helplessly. Chest against chest, hips against hips, entangled limbs - they were close and they needed more, they wanted more.

Gregory's hands seized Wilson's waist, feeling the resistance of the ribs underneath his hands, and the lovers weren't subdued by that irresistible grasp of desire as much as they were desire, they were force itself. House moved his hips against Wilson's, causing their erections to rub together, and it was what they longed for the whole night, to perform their own particular dance, to feel each other's hearts beating against their own chests. If House wasn't hard enough yet, he was certainly getting there. Their breaths were blended in the same warm air, and House grabbed Wilson's nape, with his fingers surrounded by dark hair, as the kisses became difficult and their breaths, more and more erratic. His free hand slid to Wilson's bottom, and that much pressure between their bodies felt impossibly great. House didn't notice when his own low hums became short breaths and husky moans - all he knew was the need and James' skin; the younger's body and his own sensations.

Wilson's head was pressing the pillow, for it was impossible not to wave his body under House's, both for them to rub together and because he couldn't help it. Wilson would arch his back, then lift his hips. The pressure was everywhere, heavier than plumb and softer than a feather, leaving irreversible and invisible marks in his body. The lips pressed against the skin of his neck, against the throbbing of his carotid, the hand holding his nape, and the one grabbing his bottom. Wilson was way past arousal, like each inch of his skin was now an erogenous spot. His fingers pressed House's back as if he wanted to pierce through it. That heat - he was consumed by it. His eyelids fluttered and his arms wrapped in the torso while he smiled or opened his mouth gasping, or both. He was embraced by the heat and the heartbeats, in the one place in which desperation would mean peace, agony would mean devotion, begging would mean domination.

He knew House liked to hear him in those situations - he could take it from every spasm that the sounds that leave his throat always caused. He'd take it from each smirk in the other's lips when he tried to say something during or after sex and he just babbled, unable to connect the senses to words. Wilson knew it. And there, he'd need to communicate it, even if he didn't get to say something - he was too excited and House had just gone completely hard, and he wouldn't like that disparity when they were remarkably able to go as one. So he moaned louder than House, beside his ear, whispering 'please' within the low whining in his breath, grabbing the other's hair and then his own, as he pressed his own back against the mattress.

He disentangled his legs from House's and opened his, letting the other's body in between them, and looked at his eyes with all the words he never put into sense when that much pleasure and desire is taking him over. House's hand let go of Wilson's nape, and in his mind he thanked whoever invented the nightstands, quickly - he reached for the lube bottle readily, and it only needed a stretch of his arm. Wilson begged softly, in between moans, but his eyes were demanding, and House couldn't tell what excited him more; whether it was the soft desperation in his lover's whining or the dark eyes filled with lust. Probably it was the combination of both, as it always happened when it came to Wilson.

House covered his fingers with the lubricant and shifted his body, to lay slightly on his side. He glanced at Wilson's hips briefly while his fingertips touched the perineum, and then looked back at his face, while his fingers slid into him. He made sure to spread the lube the more uniformly he could - he craved for the moment he'd be finally thrusting hard into Wilson, when the air would seem to have left the place and the sweating wouldn't be enough to make that feverish sensation go away; when he'd have his husband moaning, hissing, or even just silently catching his breath by his ear, and he wouldn't need anything beyond what he would be getting. He reached for the spot where he knew he would find Wilson's prostate, pressing it for a brief second just to feel his lover spasming beneath his body and relaxing around his fingers.

Seconds after that, he was generously covering his erection with the lube, still lying on his side, and then he would lay over James, kissing his lips briefly, before he entered him. He let out an achingly loud breath, just the air passing through his lips, and positioned his hands in the way he was already used to - the right on Wilson's shoulder and the left on his bottom, grasping the tightened muscles to coordinate better his own movements. It was something he had learned with time and practice, but there it would feel like something he had always known. He didn't need to think about moving, he just needed to move. His body knew what to do to reach its own pleasure, and his mind was drowned with all the neurotransmitters necessary to keep him in that higher state, dominated by pleasure, need and every reaction he caused on his husband.

It was always with a deep, loud inspiration that Wilson would feel House inside of him, the respectful desecration, the demanded invasion. House's impatience was combined with his precision, and what was left for Wilson to feel was only desperate need. That was every time all he wanted to feel; craving, yearning, eagerness. And it never lacked in them. It's been less than a month, and for the few days they didn't have sex there were the ones in which they had three times - if one counts the blowjobs and handjobs, yes, they did it an impossible number of times. In showers, desks, counters, sinks, couches, in the locker room, in Wilson's car, to name the most likely. They weren't young anymore, for not to feel the sore muscles, the exhaustion, the tension, the difficulty in even getting a hard-on sometimes. They really weren't - but it felt like, they felt bold, because it was all yet to discover and they were fallen like two teenagers. Too open; from his mind to let it happen and his heart to let it stay and grow - his legs, too. Wilson had one hand in his own knee and the other in House's arm, holding the wrist, in an animalistic growl.

House was penetrating him in all concepts; was like the heat of his skin was penetrating Wilson's lungs, the relentlessness of his look was penetrating Wilson's eyes. Inch by inch that the older slid into him he breathed in, then out when also House was out, but he'd lose that coordination as soon as the shoves begin. That position would always leave himself to the sake of House's mercy; but he was only unmerciful in what he knew Wilson would beg not to be spared. Beg not to let him recover, not to let him stop convulsing once he started. Wilson was hugging House's body when the movements were slow, his hands on his shoulder blades, enlacing the other's waist with his legs, crossed behind his back, knees wide apart. When House shoved harder, in a sudden movement, Wilson's muscles tensioned and it made him twitch, getting his head off of the pillow. In the next one, he let his body fall heavily back on the mattress, his hands slipping to the other's chest as he whimpered in each thrust.

The legs around his waist held him tightly, as if Wilson feared somehow that House would stop. He wasn't going anywhere but deeper; in no way but faster. He felt his lover's pleasure in his own flesh, close as they were, and he followed those signs he already knew so well. The way Wilson would stay still, with his mouth opened, being shaken by a violent spasm when House reached his most sensitive spot; the way he would relax his body all of a sudden with agony still on his face when House slowed down or changed his pace one way or another, in purpose or not - but then, he rarely did something by accident. His hand slipped over the thin layer of sweat between their skins, and then he had it on Wilson's lower back, going a little deeper than before - and he couldn't tell whether their howls were loud or just affected by that heavy atmosphere made of pressure and passion. He lowered his head until his lips were pressed against Wilson's skin, lips, despite needing to breath.

He wanted to be everywhere on his husband and inside him, to feel until there wasn't any sensation left to feel, to fuck him like he had never done before. Because of the long day away from him; the smile on Wilson's face when he put his eyes on him; the vows; the dance; the way they matched so well; the way they were the best of friends and the best of lovers. Gregory wanted to make James come harder than any of the times before, to leave him breathless, speechless, dumbstruck. He was concentrated in that, and maybe that concentration was what kept him going without losing it when his body screamed for release, with his heartbeats blending with Wilson's until he could hear both of them violently touching his skin and his ears, clueless about which one was his and which was Wilson' night had to be printed on their brains, in their eyelids, for everything - for the wedding, the laughs, the kisses, the sex. Every moment, in detailed frames made of sensations and images that would end up fading with time. He had the excuse to sound cheesy to himself, even needy - the turmoil of thoughts and meanings of each gesture and word would unravel before him in vivid technicolour, and he couldn't bear it alone. So he gave it back to Wilson, with words, moans, thrusts and kisses, in the language they created together and only them both were able to decode it completely.

Under the feverish, raging body of House's, Wilson was the depiction of despair. Like his whole unconscious knew that he was reduced to that sweaty mess and couldn't know what to do with it, so he put him to agonize as if in pain, to wring his fingers, to open his mouth wider. He only knew pleasure, and pain was something near the edge enough to confuse his senses. Once, when it was all starting to get rough, he considered that he would be sore from head to toes in the next day, but that thought wasn't dismissed as much as destroyed - probably in the next thrust of House's that made his hands lose control, slipping until they'd find somewhere to hold on to, somewhere bathed in sweat, reddish, pounding.

There was a dazed conscience above his shattered perception and his epileptic body, something able to think. Find yourself a man that composes you a song and that fucks you to nirvana, yeah, that's right. He laughed with what was left of a breath and suffocated even so. In between the reentrant movements and his own uncontrollable whimpering, his fingers reached faintly for House's face, caressing his stubble a bit roughly and then wiping the sweat off of his forehead. Those attentive, concentrated eyes were not that hard to decode, even when he had that hard shoving inside him over and over. He knew House was proud enough to many times try to give him the best fuck of his life - no, not try, he does it. He was doing it. Wilson knew he would scream in that orgasm, he indeed would, his lungs were aching for it. And it was surely exciting enough for House see Wilson that uncontrolled under him, because of him only, but that night wasn't about one; it was about them. And one couldn't expect different from Wilson - he'd never get more than give.

He rolled their bodies on the bed, making sure they were still together when he'd sit on his hips. If something had gone wrong or if it hurt somehow, he was too numb to feel - he had House under his body and that was what mattered, that would suppress anything. His hands slid in the other's sweat from his waist to his shoulders, pressing the skin, massaging it, looking at House's eyes - the exhausted, but completely esurient expression. The eyes he felt like clear skies after a dark afternoon were now the irresistible darkness he wanted to close his eyes and sink in; to be sunk deep, such as Gregory was in him. His hips didn't stop - it couldn't be the same movements, but the rhythm was just the same, just as eager and unstoppable. When he bend his body and kissed House's lips, it was the moment in which that was strong and slow instead of hard and fast; his breath was uneasy, sobbed, but he needed it. James needed to kiss Gregory anyway, though his heart was exploding, his breath was faltering, his mind was melting and pleasure was collapsing everything inside his oversensitive skin.

Just as much eagerness House felt a minute before he felt then, with James sitting over his hips. He could have stopped him - pushed him to the mattress, make sure he would dictate the pace. But he didn't have such instincts. He certainly wouldn't complain if Wilson decided he wanted to ride him - how could he ever think about complaining of any of that? There, buried deep inside of Wilson, with their lips pressed together in a moment and fully separated in the other, with his hands holding his husband's hips and feeling his moves with his whole body - shuddering with every roll of hips; his eyelids fluttering as he came closer and closer to his climax; his heart vibrating in his chest in that mad and sweet tachycardia - if that wasn't right, then damn the right and the wrong. James' hands slid over his chest and it was too much.

The sex, the kisses, Wilson's fiery look, his body, his swearing. He held Wilson's erection in his hand, giving it rhythmical strokes, with a look of helplessness in his eyes while he gasped for air. He wanted them to come together, because he was sure he would be taken over by exhaustion as soon as he spurted inside of James. It was like their roles were reversed, and this time it was James who was decided to make his climax be one of the greatest he ever had, if not the greatest, and he couldn't do much beyond be taken over by that powerful sensation as it approached him to embrace his senses in warm draining light. They gave it all to each other, and they took all they could take.

House said his husband's name, repeatedly, to warn him, to beg him, to taste his name on his tongue. But each time he tried, his voice broke down in a moan, or he clenched his teeth. In the last time, though, he almost did it. "James, I-"He managed to say, but his mouth opened wider as he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't hold it back, he couldn't control it. Orgasm reached his mind and his entire body in a fraction of second, and his fingers grabbed Wilson's hips harder and he let go of the other's hard-on to have both of his hands holding his husband's bottom with his eyes completely shut.

Feeling the shudders in the other's body, Wilson grinned widely for a second - it would be more than that, it would be a smile carved definitively in his lips, but his expression twisted by itself while he was agonizing. In their final seconds, their bodies would collide together one against the other, as House also pushed repeatedly his body towards, lifting his hips. The grasp in his bottom and the frenetic rhythm, sweetly furious and roughly tender like only them both were in the world, because that would be the only thing to compare. When House was coming, Wilson was leaning both of his hands in the mattress, breathing the hot air and listening to his name being uttered in pure desire, sounding raw, lickerish, until the words made no sense anymore and House was howling in his ear.

He ran his fingers through his own hair, deeply hypnotized inside that dizziness. His head spinning, his sight blurring, the whole thing he already knew, but that would always - and that time, he'd dare to say, it was the strongest. They wanted it to be, so it was. It was all about arousing their minds and bodies to the extreme, and being in a connection that was carefully drawn throughout those days, and throughout that night. A little time after but what could be one million heartbeats later, it was his turn for the orgasm spread through his maddened synapses. Wilson was roaring between his teeth, but his voice faltered, strangled. He raised his body, sitting down on the hips. In a moment he threw his head backwards, his legs as apart as they could be there, jerking himself off. In the other, he tilted his body again over House's, grabbing his arms. His body was trembling helplessly, and he opened his eyes like he wanted to see something but his sight was black, like he needed to breath but there wasn't any air left, sweating his blood out, grinding together senseless, screwing to numbness - that much struggling of their poor systems, that extreme violence to all his structures welcomed it all as ecstasy, as reaching the rapture and its catharsis.

His legs were aching and it took him the end of a breath and the ultimate strength of his arms to just lay down instead of falling in House's chest. They shuddered when he supported his weight on them, and once he got to loosen his body in the slippery chest of the other's, leaning his head on his shoulder, he couldn't help but panting loudly. "If you want me out of here you've... got to push me to the side. I don't... have the... strength to lean in my arms again."

House grinned with his lips parted, softly, as every movement of his would be until he was freed from that dazed state. The air left his lungs quicker than it entered, but breathing was easier with each second, even if Wilson was lying over him. Chest against chest - and again he couldn't tell which heartbeats were his and which were James'. And that felt right. They were filled with the echoes of each other's life: moments they spent together, stories they shared, sensations they discovered in each other's company. It was better than unity or harmony; they counterpointed one another, maybe not being what the other wanted, but needed.

Wilson's hands were close to his own, and he only had to reach for them blindly with his own - with their fingers entwined, he could feel the difference those rings caused in something he was already used to. It still felt mostly weird on his finger, but it was nice to feel it on Wilson's. It was still too early to think about all that happened - and at the same time he felt he didn't need to. He opened his eyes to the ceiling and moved his head slightly to the side, with his lips ghosting over his husband's forehead. "I'm not that eager to move myself, I guess we can stay like this a little longer."

With his eyes closed, a bit forcibly, Wilson felt his body lazily trying to get back to normal. From the breath and the heartbeats to his strained muscles. He and House were soaked in sweat and that sticky sensation wasn't bad yet; it was still cozy, warm. A few minutes later, in that deep silence that gradually was filled with less and less loud breaths, hee let go of House's hand." I need...water." He tried to get up from House's chest, but ended up falling by his side on the mattress. "Jesus Christ." he laughed weakly, panting again. House looked at him and it felt like the same warmth of when their bodies were together seconds ago drenched his chest from inside out. He again reached out for the other's left hand, upon his abdomen, and held it, while blinking slowly and smiling softly.

With Wilson's body not over his anymore, House felt the air around him gradually becoming colder. It differed greatly from how impossibly warm it felt before, and Wilson was too far from him - any distance then would feel too far. The smile on his husband's lips had that dazed happiness, the same lazy smile he always showed in his afterglow. And House knew by then - it was not only because the hormones and the remains of a climax, but also because of him. With Wilson, it was real, and it felt real; his senses weren't deceiving him. He took Wilson't hand to his lips, kissing it softly before letting go of it and turning to the other side, to reach for the bottle filled to the half with water he had left over the nightstand, stretching his body a bit too much for his still dizzy senses. Still lying on his side, he took a sip of the liquid, sighing relieved afterwards. He then turned to face Wilson again, handing him the bottle and laid heavily on his back again, grinning faintly.

Groaning, Wilson dragged himself upwards until his back rest in the headboard. He reached for the water bottle and drank it in large gulps. "I'm a bit too old to be playing cowboy." He chuckled, handing the bottle to House again, with some water still left for him. He wiped the sweat in his forehead again, closing his eyes. "Good thing we don't need to leave this room so soon." He slid laid straight again on the bed.

Leaning on his elbow, House drank the rest of the water and placed the empty bottle back on the nightstand. Laying on the bed again, he turned his head to face Wilson, closer than before, with their shoulders touching. He smiled and reached for James' chest, drawing circles over the skin with his fingertips. "You're a great rider, husband, I don't think age is a problem for you. At least I hope so. I want to appreciate you like that many times still."

Wilson chuckled, keeping on smiling. "I will do it again. Just hope you have enjoyed it, I guess I can't do it again so soon. But don't stop loving me when you can't do me hardcore any longer, toffee apple." The tone of his voice was playful, as if a clear joke, and he turned in the bed, still close-eyed. His hand held the wrist of House's, weakly, and, as he turned, the hand that was caressing his chest with the fingertips slid to the side of his torso. In the meanwhile, his own hand was slipping up House's arm to his shoulder, and he half-opened his eyes.

House smirked lightly, with his hand on Wilson's waist. "I promise I'll be as gentle and nice as I can to my sweet prince. At least I'll try." His tone was just as playful, but he spoke slowly, sinking into that exhaustion little by little. "As long as you don't wear a tuxedo in the meanwhile, or take it off in front of me. You kind of had it coming." He shrugged faintly, and moved a little forward to touch his forehead to Wilson's, before pressing his lips against his husband's briefly.

"I am definitely not complaining." He reached out for House's face, skimming his fingertips in his stubble. "Quite the opposite." His lips locked another kiss in House's lips. His breath by then had calmed downe to a bearable state again, but when he deepened it, it was enough for his heart to race, just a bit, a sprint even. He separated their mouths and sighed, smiling at how exhausted he was, and how everything else seemed so distant from that glow, from that bed. He wanted to think it through, he wanted to wonder how great it was what they were in, but he didn't need to. He was doing better than contemplating, he was feeling it fully, inch by inch, step by step. And in that edge of conscience, when he was sleepy but not entirely fallen inside his subconscious, everything was oniric without losing reality.

House caressed Wilson's waist and back; what he could reach at least. Drowsiness would soon take them over if they didn't move, and, naked as they were, covered in sweat and, to a certain extent, their own spurt, certainly wasn't the best way to sleep. He avoided thinking about how far the bathroom seemed to be, how tired he felt, how much he wanted to just surrender to that somnolence. "Come on, let's get ourselves cleaned before we fall asleep." He said against Wilson's lips, sounding as resolute as he could.

Wilson wouldn't think any differently, but it wouldn't keep him from sighing painfully. "God, the bathroom is far away." But he was already sitting down, grimacing softy. Sighing again, briefly this time, he looked down to House again. "You missed that thing about carrying the bride in your arms. Now is a good time to make it up."

"I believe we may keep some of our independence in a stable relationship." He said, sitting on the bed and rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. "I'm not that much of the kind crippled gentleman everyone may think I am." He grinned, ironically, and moved slowly until his feet were on the floor, turning his head to smile at Wilson, a softer smile. He reached for his husband's hand over the mattress and squeezed it,as if clumsily trying to encourage him. "The first one to reach the bathroom is the winner."

He looked back at House with a smirk and knelt on the bed, as if he was completely ready to run - which he wasn't at all. /What are we betting? /He narrowed his eyes.

House shrugged, grinning boyishly. "Considering that we're pretty tired, let's say the winner gets a full-body massage tomorrow morning. And when I say "full-body", I mean it. /He winked and leaned both of his hands on the mattress, as he put his weight on them to get up, frowning as his body felt heavy with exhaustion, and started walking to the bathroom, not waiting for Wilson.

Wilson frowned and jumped off the bed, in a sprint getting to the bathroom door at the same time as House. There, he stepped forward and stopped under the doorframe and leaned in both his arms to block the entry. "Was it really a bet?" he supported his weight in his hands and panted. He shouldn't have - his legs were still trembling. "I can kill for a full-body massage from you."

House couldn't help laughing, delighted - and he wouldn't hold it back. Leaning on the wall beside the doorframe, he laughed with his eyes closed, bending his head downwards a bit, until he looked at Wilson again - his husband, panting, looking wrecked. He reached for James' chin, to raise it until his eyes were glued to his own, and kissed him delicately, with the smile still twisting his lips. "You're unbelievable. Fine, you won. Now let's take our shower before you pass out or something alike." He shook his head slightly, chuckling.

With laughter and random touches, they got in the bathroom. While the glasses started to fog, they barely talked, blinking slowly, exhausted. For both it was good to feel other the hands of the other sliding in soap and foam throughout their bodies, carefully touching everything that was to touch even without the sexual response. Because wet kisses under pouring water are delicious by themselves, a hot shower for tired bodies is great by itself.


	25. Le ciel dans une chambre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quand tu es près de moi,
> 
> Cette chambre n'a plus de parois,
> 
> Mais des arbres oui, des arbres infinis,
> 
> Et quand tu es tellement près de moi
> 
> "Le ciel dans une chambre", Carla Bruni

The sun rose, illuminating the room, and the when the clarity became too much, House woke up, opening his eyes little by little. He was sure it was too early to be awake, and Wilson was still sleeping deeply, unaware of the light of the day. The older didn't fall asleep again, and just remained there, comfortable, enjoying the warmth of Wilson's body. It was inevitable to remember the night before, and he didn't take long to smile lazily to himself. His muscles were only barely sore, and it could even be due to sleeping. Overall, he felt rested, in a state of lightness and peace of mind. His smile got wider when he remembered the scene on the doorframe, with Wilson panting and telling him he'd kill for a massage made by him. It was nice to feel flattered - but feeling flattered for something like that had always been a particularly bright spot of light in his mind. Maybe he'd never get used to that, and maybe that was for the best.

Dismissing further reflections, he disentangled himself from Wilson's embrace carefully, and walked to the bathroom. When he was done there, he started to look for his husband's body lotion, and, after taking his meds, he sit on the bed, beside his lover. His hand ran over the soft stained skin of Wilson's back, as his eyes once more observed the freckles on his shoulders - something that draw his attention to it without any apparent reason. He slowly pushed the covers away from Wilson's body, and only then bended his torso to press kisses over the skin of the shoulders. He heard Wilson humming, still looking asleep, and raised his torso again, smiling. With his hands covered with the massage lotion, he placed both of them on Wilson's shoulders and straightened his position before starting.

The seconds inside that haze in the edge of conscience confused James, and he merely groaned as a reaction to that sudden pleasant sensation. It was a thin line to reality, and he smiled unavoidably. Often he had dreams about the past day. Sometimes nightmares, in which everything went wrong or tragic; sometimes just a fantasy wedding, with nonsense elements that the subconscious draws. And it took him one second of open eyes to see the clear sky above, through the window that the curtains weren't hiding. A whiter light, from an early morning. He couldn't feel sore yet, since he hasn't moved, but the fingers sliding easily in his back made him notice the aching spots. But it wasn't pain he was feeling -in that precision not to force any muscle, that was just delicious. He opened his eyes wider and managed to pull his arm bent and rub his eyes. Then he leaned on his forearm and, before looking at House behind him with the corner of his eye, he glanced at the gold ring in the finger of his left hand. This time, it was for real. It had been amazing, every second, and it still was. They were married, and despite any meaning, they were in honeymoon and he was woken up with a massage. "Don't I have the best husband in the world?" He glanced at House and groaned once more, leaning his head fully in the pillow again. "God, this feels so good." He then closed his eyes.

House started sliding his thumbs in circles over Wilson's skin, softly at first, just delineating the muscles and bones he could feel underneath it, finding whatever knots the other could have there. The pressure he applied to each spot was careful not to be too strong, just enough to be pleasurable. He didn't need to think about which muscles he was touching, or to which bones they were attached to; he touched and acknowledged their names, almost subconsciously. There it was, the trapezius, from the base of the neck to the shoulder blades and down the spinal cord until reaching the waist, and he drew his hands over it, pressing his thumbs forward in the direction of Wilson's neck, avoid the spine. "You surely have, don't doubt it for a second." He stopped talking for some time, appreciating the feeling of the muscles relaxing under his touch and the sound of Wilson's low hums. Letting go of his husband's body, he reached for the massage cream, for his palms to slide more easily over Wilson's infraspinatus and deltoid muscles, in circles. "I haven't done too bad either. My daring, bold husband, almost fainting in my arms last night. Too many emotions, I get it." He started them pressing his knuckles over the places where he knew there were knots, putting a little more strength into it. The soft smell of the lotion was already everywhere, and the sunlight was gradually becoming stronger outside as its source appeared from behind the tree-covered hills, in that dreamy landscape. He looked through the window for a brief moment, and found all of that beautiful, but he doubted he could ever spend too much time in a place like that, where nothing seemed to happen. His eyes concentrated on the warm skin beneath his fingers once more, and he slid them slowly to Wilson's waist, carefully, until there wasn't any rib left to feel on that side.

That felt just great; impossibly great. Each point House touched seemed to fill him with warm pleasure, like he could press points of delight in him - quite as if the abstract meaning was under his skin, at the other's fingers reach. "I'm not even listening to what you are saying, magic fingers. But if you want me to agree, I can." He wasn't thinking any further or beyond. He was deliciously sleepy, but conscious enough to feel carefully the touch. He couldn't know if it was House who knew too well where to press, or if it was really pleasant for Wilson just the fact that the older was actually doing it, but in the end Wilson would always go with the idea that it was because of both. He couldn't stop smiling and humming low.

"I might've known that you'd be too busy purring like a kitten to pay attention to anything else." He bended over Wilson's body, to massage the muscles on the other side, in a comfortable quietness. When he was done there, he covered his hands once more with the lotion, generously, before starting on Wilson's lower back. At first, he just zigzagged with his hands over the whole extent of his husband's back, from the lumbar to the shoulders and back down. He drew circles with his thumbs then, with his palms resting over the area where the thoracolumbar fascia was, and then slid his hands swiftly to the sides of Wilson's hips, and, carefully, he massaged the gluteus medius, knowing that would be certainly a sore muscle. He was paying more attention to Wilson's reactions, to know if he was doing that right or not - moving slower near the hipbone, gradually sliding his hands to the gluteus maximus, not coming too close to sciatic nerve area. He pressed his thumbs on the muscles beside the sacrum bones, as if getting to know everything he could feel there, and them pressed his palms in sliding movements. And there he was, massaging his husband's buttocks, and it was unavoidable to think about the night before, and how it felt.

Wilson smirked at that touch. He was indeed a bit sore, nothing to call painful with all letters. And it felt really good, what could even sound repetitive. Both the fingertips actually massaging and the hands groping him, in the same movements, in the same touch. He bit his lip and tried not to hum or moan anymore, though he let out throated breaths. In the next calculated grasp, he chuckled. "If you're trying to make me ready for another round, your fingers aren't that magic, you know." He crossed his arms behind the pillow and looking at House. His breath was just slightly heavier, something only House would notice. The mouth was hidden by his arm, but that smirk could be seen in his cheeks and eyes.

"Oh crap, and I thought I was being so discreet..." He sounded theatrically disappointed, but he didn't feel like being blatantly sarcastic there. He took his hands off of Wilson's bottom, to get some more lotion, and proceeded to massage the thigh muscles.

He remembered how funny was the occasion in which he found Wilson was a little ticklish, almost by accident. Brushing his hand softly over James' knee, he watched as the other shivered and immediately took Gregory's hand from there, letting out a kind of strangled raised his eyebrows and smirked, as Wilson started to move away from him progressively, raising his hands and saying "No... It's not what you're thinking, you don't want to do it." He chuckled thinking about that. His thumbs pressed and drew lines over Wilson's thighs, and soon he had reached the gastrocnemii and the soleus muscles in the calves.

When he was done there, he moved to the end of the mattress, sitting beside Wilson's feet. "Now you turn, firefly."

Wilson obeyed, smiling. He turned on the bed, laying on his back nearly rolling in the sheets. He breathed in slowly and rubbed his eyes again before looking at the other. Groaning softly, he had that sleepy, relaxed expression of his, in which there was a shine of enchantment, glowing in his comfy expression when his eyes met House's. "All yours." Smirking, he crossed one arm behind his head, under the pillow, and the other he kept on alongside his body. That hand opened faintly, like hesitantly and barely perceptively reaching out, as if he wanted to touch House, too.

House bended his body over the mattress and placed a kiss on Wilson's palm. It could be laughable; they both were maybe too eager to touch, though Wilson certainly was way more impatient than him (but only in that aspect). Being touched wasn't enough, in the end, and somehow it worked out just fine. House was learning to give without restrain, and Wilson was learning to get... They were trying, at least. The older raised his eyes to the figure of his husband, and grinned. "Wait a second, I'm gonna get some paper and pencils so I can draw you like one of my French girls."

Wilson then realized the position he was in, and laughed, leaning on his side for it to be more accurate. "Would you, Jack? Wearing only one piece of jewelry, my gold ring." He even bent his leg a bit. "You're such a talented husband, it will be a pity when I let you to freeze in the Atlantic." He laid on his back again, crossing both of his arms behind his head then.

"Oh, you wouldn't do it, I know." House raised his torso, sitting on the bed again. "Because then I'd find a way to remain on Earth and I'd bother some crazy seer to come and annoy you to death, talking about my disturbed spirit and how it won't let her sleep at night with infinite pleading about talking to you one last time. And then we'd have to do ceramics together. No, you don't want to do it." He held Wilson's left foot and rotated the ankle as well as every finger, and then he did the same with the other foot. His position there wasn't ideal, but he could manage it. After grabbing the lotion tube, he coated Wilson's left foot with it, spreading it in easy movements. Lisfrank's joint; tibial and fibular sesamoid bones; four metatarsal heads and one metatarsal phalangeal joint; the interphalangeal joint; from the middle of the plantar surface to the top, then back to the middle and straight to the other half, with the 5th metatarsal base, the calcaneal-cuboid joint, the Chopard's joint and the calcaneus, alongside with the pressure applied on the area of the talus bone attaching the tibia to the heel. All those delicate and also strong little bones, and he pushed his thumbs deep over the sole of Wilson's feet, knowing each bone beneath the spot he was pressuring.

He had closed his eyes and released his body in the mattress, placing his hands over his own torso. Those touches were as dedicated as if there was something interesting for House to try there, more than just pleasing him. As if it could be one of the crazy surgeries or daring treatments he loved instead of just tiring his hands covered in lotion while massaging muscles and bones he knew the names by heart just to make him feel that good. Moaning within a sigh, he opened his eyes again to House's. "Are you high? That would explain a lot." Wilson's smile wasn't suspicious, though - his incredulity was more out of amaze than anything else. He had been observing the somehow distant look in House's face as he changed the muscle under his touch, how he seemed concentrated, distracted even. Wilson felt something pressing his chest. He knew he didn't want to bore House, but it all had a lot to do with his difficulty in just receiving. The feeling, though, was more as a new realization, no matter how obvious; of how a relationship as theirs had been born from something so sick and turned out to be that... healthy? The balance, the realization that it wouldn't harm to be just what they felt like being and doing whatever the fuck they wanted to - no need to fill the silences, full incentive to be rash and bold, behavior of porn actors - and, most of all, though they didn't need to say a word, free from anything that would tell them it wouldn't work, it was too soon or anything alike. It didn't matter. Unmasked, they were living the moment. After their dreamlike wedding in which everything went well; after vows and rings and a dance, after Gregory offer them a brand new song; after an outstanding night of rough, wild sex; that long and hot shower to fill their senses with; that well-slept night in soft sheets, warm blankets and the cherished embrace of arms and entwined legs - after all that, a massage session from Gregory just after he woke up. That was a wonderful moment to be living in.

"Do I need to be high to want to please my beloved husband?" House didn't take his eyes off of Wilson's feet, proceeding in that exact moment to massage the right foot. Wilson had begun to moan and hum again, and he half-grinned at the sound. "I just enjoy to hear you moaning like this, that's all." His hands made the same movements of before, beginning by the middle of Wilson's sole to the fingers and from the fingers to the heel. When he finished, House laid on the bed, right where he was, with his head beside Wilson's waist. He brushed his fingertips over Wilson's belly, faintly, knowing how sensitive his skin was there, and a moment after, he moved upwards over the mattress, to kiss Wilson's lips. His hand kept caressing his husband's abdomen, almost provocatively. It didn't have any special purpose, and he wasn't really trying to arouse James - if he were, he wouldn't be that subtle. Those touches were meant to feel languidly pleasurable, just like the massage, evocative and slow, like steam rising and forming scented spirals over a cup of coffee.

Wilson would want to say he knew what that touches meant or where they could lead, if there was anything to mean or anywhere to lead to, but he would be lying. They truly already knew each other in ways that would envy long-lasting couples, but he still couldn't deal with House's softness by itself, or when it flirted with lust without seeming willing to hold its hand or kiss its lips. He understood it, he got it, but he couldn't deal with it. And it was in a good way - one that would keep him surprised by things that happen day after day and amazed by tricks he already knew the secret. Another hum came out of Wilson's throat within that kiss - but it wasn't just a pleased groan, but a prelude for an actual word. He broke the kiss softly. "Greg?" he said, low, and frowned, as if thinking better about the question itself.

House just hummed in response, acknowledging the unspoken question but not quite answering it. There wasn't really an answer. He breathed in deeply, with his lips touching Wilson's neck this time. "I said 'full-body massage', but if you want me to go on or not, that's your call. We can stay like this too, save some energies for later." House smirked and pressed a kiss on the warm skin. "Promise I won't tie you to the bed if you say 'no'." He chuckled, briefly, fearing for a second that Wilson would still be mad at him for that, even if just barely.

He pressed his lips together and glared at House for a second, narrowing his eyes. "I wasn't even thinking about this, but good thing you made it clear." The angry look faded. "Not that I completely hated the tying up thing, but you went over the line. Maybe you should be the one tied next time." He waited for the reaction, loosing his head in the pillow. He was more watching the answer than making any actual plan.

"I wouldn't be averse to it." House sighed, looking away for a moment. Whatever he said could ruin everything there, and he knew that trying to fix it later would take longer than a simple apology. "I'm sorry, ok? I shouldn't have mentioned it, I shouldn't have done it in the first place. Let's leave it alone..." His mind was filled with all the reasons he could say to justify it, but they sounded too shallow even to himself. He took Wilson's hand to his lips, to press a kiss over the palm, and them placed their entwined hands over his husband's chest, while his lips placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Next time I'll be sure to tie you up only for the sake of it."

That corner of Wilson's lips lifted in a smirk. When House pulled his head back, he held the other's waist and suddenly turned them both on the bed, switching their places. The blankets clung to his foot, but he remained there. When House looked at him from under his sight, he'd see in the narrowed eyes something both curious and provocative. "Are you sorry, or are you worried?" He grinned in a way that would suggest 'because you should be', but that same suggestion wouldn't be any worry at all. He wouldn't say he wasn't mad at House - because he didn't know if he really wasn't, and that he wouldn't give the older that sort of relief anyway. By then, he would just play along.

"Should I be worried?" He raised his left eyebrow, grinning lightly, looking sceptical and provocative at the same time, daringly. The smirk on his lover's face got wider and he immediately felt amused and eager to see what Wilson was planning. Whatever it was he was sure he would find out, and it delighted him immensely to see the good James Wilson boy to step away from his apparently virtuous and righteous path. He had his hands on his husband's waist, surrounded by the scent of fennel and lavender, and there wasn't other thing to do but pull Wilson's hips against his own, with a suggestive smirk. Honeymoon was spent between kisses and eager hands, in plain daylight and with the soft low-light of the honey-yellow lamps in their room. After all, the rest of the world could wait. They'd face it together when it was time, sharing that newborn, quite frightening feeling that each other's company would be enough to give them strength to be brave instead of just bold; to be magnificent in their particular complexities and beautiful in their new-found simplicity. Because it was that simple: they were together, brighter than a thousand suns, and so  _unbearably happy_. And they were just beginning. 


End file.
